


Stronger than Our Scars

by FlipThePages



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Titanfall (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers Family, Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Multi, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Platonic Robot/Human Relationships, Polyamory, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Romance, eventual polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 189,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23525041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlipThePages/pseuds/FlipThePages
Summary: “One day you will meet someone who will break down your walls and stare into the depths of you. One day they will see the bruises on your soul, will hear about all of the terrible things you have done, and you will expect them to leave, but they won’t. They won’t. One day, you will meet someone who looks into the damage, who sees the wounds, the dark, and they will love you anyways. They will love you.”   ― Bianca Sparacino, The Strength In Our ScarsA story in which three damaged souls come to terms with their losses and find healing and hope for the future in each others arms.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 225
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**2245 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 05, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

In accordance with every account, rationale and logical conclusion of a reasonably sensible individual, she shouldn’t even be here. Not in this reality. Not in this solar system. Not on this planet. Not on this continent. Not in this country. Not in this city. And most certainly not parked on her ass atop a shipping container nearly sixty feet up in the air while drinking from an open bottle of Metaxa.

But fuck it. What else did she have to do at nearly eleven o’ clock on a Friday night?

Not much, that’s what. So why couldn’t she take the opportunity to enjoy a nice drink while looking out over the glittering surface of the Thermaic Gulf?

The work week was done so the only thing of importance she had to do was get back home to her low-end apartment in one piece. Not too much a challenge and it wasn’t like she had any real constraints on her time to adhere to. Her trip up north wasn’t until next weekend so she didn’t really have any plans until Monday when she’d had to report back for work. Two days of relative rest and relaxation was in her future, but unfortunately that was part of the problem.

She had a craving for action.

A desire for excitement.

The hum-drum of her work here at the Port was just not doing it for her, despite the fact that it allowed her to make enough money to keep herself alive. She was lucky to have gotten the job at all. In a rare stroke of luck, fortune had smiled upon her that one night all those months ago. Save the right guy from getting his face beat black, blue and bloody in during a bar fight and wham-bam one decent job and an under-the-table paycheck were suddenly thrust into her hands. And she wasn’t dumb enough to turn down such an opportunity. All because of that she had an apartment that wasn’t an absolute piece of crap and a SUV that didn’t run like it was one bad cylinder from death.

But still… It just wasn’t the same. It wasn’t home.

She took another swig of the herb-infused brandy, humming in pleasure at the burn, before the sound of vehicles rolling up from the far side of her stack of containers caught her attention. The security gates to this section of the Port should’ve been shut tight hours ago so there shouldn’t be anybody driving around. Something was up and her gut was telling her that it was bad business.

As the saying goes: _Speak of the Devil and he shall appear._

Grumbling a bit under her breath, mildly irritated that her evening drink has been cut short, she stood up and capped her booze before she sliding it back into her backpack. She slunk forward in a crouched position; her measured footsteps nearly soundless against the container as she made her approach. Going prone at the edge, she peered over and laid eyes on the arrivals bathed in the pale moonlight.

Three nondescript SUVs and larger armored truck, like those that carried money between banks or other sorts of precious and valuable cargo. Painted all matte black with darkly tinted windows, which she was nearly a hundred percent sure were also bulletproofed. Five men off-loaded from each SUV and another group of six exited from the truck.

A full team of twenty-one, each of them quite tall and muscular to her eyes, and each and every one of them gussied up to the nines with tactical gear and serious looking body armor. She hummed in thought as the men moved with practiced ease to arm themselves with a variety of long guns, mostly shotguns and rifles, before gathering up for a last minute debrief. One of the men, the only one who had yet to put his helmet on, stepped to the forefront and by his bearing she figured him to be the one in charge.

“As of the latest ping from five minutes ago,” he began, loud and clear, catching her slightly off-guard by speaking English instead of Greek, as he glanced down at some sort of device in his hands. “The Asset’s location has been narrowed down to a fifty square meter area four hundred meters from here towards the end of the pier. It is assumed that it has taken refuge in one of the containers offloaded this evening from the _Liberdade_ , which docked late this afternoon.”

There was a murmur of anxious energy from the other twenty, some shifting their weight around and others fiddling with their weaponry. All signs that there was some serious shit about to go down.

“The mission is simple, gentlemen. Locate, contain and disable the Asset for transport to the Facility for reconditioning. Lethal force is not authorized. I repeat, lethal force is not authorized.” The team fidgeted and seemed about to protest, but he cut them short. “However, that being said, it’ll take a beating so lay into it fast and hard with everything we’ve got. There’ll be three teams of seven approaching from the east, north and west simultaneously. We pin the Asset in and get it done as quickly as we can.”

From atop her perch, she was confused, concerned and curious in equal measure as she watched the team break up into the squads and move off to begin their approaches from their assigned directions.

Just what in the Hell was going on here?

When all of the men vanished from her field of view, she let of a huff of air and stood.

What to do. What to do. What to do.

Should she make the smart choice and just go home? Keep her nose clean and under the radar from anyone who might have the resources to connect her dots and find her wanting? Or should she follow her instincts and indulge her burgeoning sense of curiosity? Should she follow these glaringly obvious bad guys and try to foil their nefarious plans for this mysterious Asset?

She ultimately came to the conclusion to do a little of Column A and a little of Column B. She’d follow at a distance, but do her best to keep her nose out of it. Observation only. Should be easy enough for someone of her considerable talent and experience. After all, reconnaissance and covert operations had been the air she’d been breathing for near on a decade now. Her bread and butter, as it were.

She dismounted from the stack with care, making sure her landings were as quiet as they could be. She didn’t want to tempt fate and have one of the teams hear a disturbance behind them and come to investigate. It would’ve been a good time to have her jump kit, but she was out of luck on that front with most of her gear locked up nearly three hours away. But she’d been in harder spots than this before and, with any amount of luck, she wouldn’t need to get involved at all.

Nonetheless, she had the comforting weight of a knife tucked in her boot and a handgun nestled into the waistband of her jeans. Not the best load-out with only twelve rounds in the magazine, but definitely better than nothing.

Coming up alongside the vehicles, she tested the doors and found them all unlocked, which wasn’t all too surprising. The SUVs had nothing of interest. However, what she found in the back of the truck had all of the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight and the prickling sensation of goose-flesh breaking out along her arms.

It was some sort of reclined full-body restraint, clearly designed for the human form, and bolted onto a wheeled gurney, like something that could’ve once been in the back of an ambulance. But it was the restraints themselves that had her feeling chilled down to the bone and just a tiny bit nauseous. They were thick, curved bars of metal, nearly an inch thick on reinforced hinges for nearly every area of the body. Singular bars for the neck, chest and abdomen and three sets each for each limb. Biceps, forearms and wrists. Thighs, calves and ankles. Each of them magnetically locking into place within a matching socket on the other side.

“Just what the fuck are these guys trying to catch?” she whispered in a horrified sense of awe, turning away from the truck and looking towards the path that the team coming in from the north had taken.

The leader had mentioned reconditioning, that meant that this Asset or whatever had escaped from whoever these guys were and was on the run. And just the fact that they called it Asset had her feeling pissed off, like it was a just a machine or a tool to be used and abused until there was nothing left. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like that one bit.

Oh, no way in Hell was she turning back now. Not with something this serious going down.

Choosing to lighten her load, she slung her backpack off and threw it into the passenger seat of the SUV at the front of the convoy. A decent enough place to stash it for the time being. Additionally, just to be on the safe side, she pulled the hood of her sweatshirt up to cover her hair and the hem of her shemagh up to cover the lower half of her face. She wasn’t taking any chances of being spotted by any sort of camera or recording device. She wouldn’t be too surprised if these guys were wearing body cams.

And if this ambush was going to go down like she had a feeling it was going to, then the tactical team wouldn’t be making it out of this alive and the cameras would be her biggest threat. If the Asset – whoever they were – emerged victorious, then they’d all be dead. But if the team somehow managed to get the upper hand and take this person down then she’d intervene and they’d still all end up dead.

Goes to show what happens when she asks the Universe for a bit of excitement.

She took off at a run towards the end of the pier, keeping her steps light but her pace quick, hoping to catch up with them before the shit hit the fan. But her hopes were in vain as the telltale sounds of gunfire, muffled by suppressors but still audible, lit up the night. Rounding a faded blue container, she came to a screeching halt and ducked back into its shadow for cover and bore witness to the brutal fight taking place in front of her.

The three teams of seven had converged like the leader had planned them too, boxing in a smaller stack of shipping containers, where one of the doors on the second level had been busted open like a tin can. A dark-haired figure, clearly male from the shape of his body, in grungy civilian clothes was tearing through those who were rushing him even as they shot at him. He’d already taken down five, but she couldn’t determine if they were dead or just knocked out from her position. But the speed and strength with which this mystery guy, the Asset, was fighting was far beyond anything she’d ever seen and was obviously too much for the tac-team to handle.

By watching mainstream media, she had accumulated a fair share of information about those sorts of people that the world labeled as “Enhanced”. Superheroes, like the famous Avengers, and the equally dangerous threats that they were supposed to combat. But it wasn’t something she’d really paid much attention to, merely data that she’d logged away for further study if it ever became necessary.

Necessary was looking a lot like now, however.

The majority of their armaments, which she had mistaken for normal firearms, seemed to be modified into non-lethal variants. The shotguns were shooting a sort of stun round, with the shells that managed to hit discharging a visible burst of electricity upon impact. They had the Asset recoiling violently and twitching for a short time afterwards, but he still didn’t stay down. The rifles were shooting darts, most likely loaded with high-dose tranquilizers, and he’d already taken six and wasn’t out of the fight.

“Fuck! Why won’t he stay down!” one of the men shouted, fear and panic getting the better of him as he backpedaled away from the fight as four more of his fellows were taken down by the Asset in the thirty seconds it had taken her to study the field.

Only twelve left but it was looking like the stun rounds and tranqs were beginning to take their toll. The Asset was slowing down and getting sloppier even as he commandeered a shotgun from one of the fallen and shot two more with their own shells before it was out of ammo and he dropped it.

One of those downed got a shot off as he went, a stun round catching the Asset’s left arm which went limp upon impact and pulled his body off balance ever so slightly. He stumbled backwards, reaching up and ripping the attached shell off of his disabled arm, tearing the sleeve of his shirt in the process. Silver metal, painstakingly forged in the shape of an anatomically accurate – and incredibly muscular – arm, was exposed and gleamed in the light of the moon through the tears in the worn fabric.

It was definitely a prosthetic. A replacement for an arm that he’d lost at some point.

Had these bastards done this to him? Had they taken his arm and bolted on a shiny metal one just to make him a better tool in their arsenal? Made him into a more dangerous weapon for them to point at their enemies and order him to destroy and kill without any choice of his own?

She knew that feeling intimately, but it had been her choice to make. A voluntary decision. But she’d bet more than anything that he’d had little say in the matter of being turned into a living weapon.

Coming to the conclusion that now was the time to intervene, she prepared herself to enter the fray, and it wasn’t a moment too soon. The Asset stumbled, going down onto one knee, panting for breath and one of the tac-team shot him in the neck with a tranq dart when given the opportunity.

Her handgun and knife were in her hands in the blink of an eye, safety clicked off and she advanced on the member of the capture team nearest to her position. She slid in behind him and before he could realize she was there she drove the blade of her knife into his neck from behind and severed his spine. He dropped like a stone and she moved onto the next and the next with her knife thirsting for blood.

Three down.

Four of the remaining seven, realizing that there was another hostile on the field, turned to confront her. But the other three, the leader amongst them, moved in on the nearly defeated Asset who had gotten up but stood on unsteady legs.

She spared a moment of thought to hope he’d be able to hold off those three for a little while longer.

Charging forward she took her opponents by surprise and opened fire; one took a shot to the head with the second taking a bullet through the neck. Not her finest work, but she’s gotten a little bit rusty living as a civilian. But they were out of the fight and that was what ultimately mattered. The final two seemed to realize that they were outclassed and backpedaled, firing blinding in her general direction, but she was just too fast for them.

The third and fourth bullets took down the next and she leapt at the last with her knife bared, knocking his gun aside with a push of her forearm and driving the blade straight through his neck. She withdrew her knife and spun around, gun up and at the ready to find that the Asset had taken down one of the three, but was only just managing to fend off the remaining two.

But they’d made the mistake of turning their back on her.

Bang. Bang.

All tangos down.

She let her pistol drop to her side and took a non-threatening stance as she surveyed the scene.

All twenty-one of the capture team were down, but she’d have to check them all to see if they were dead or just unconscious. She’d have to kill those who were still breathing to cover her tracks, along with those of the complete stranger who she’d just impulsively chosen to save.

He was down again, nearly bent in half over his knees with only his arms to keep him upright. His left, the metal one, was holding steady, but his right arm was visibly trembling. And yet, his head was up and he was watching her like a hawk with pale blue-gray eyes. He was one tough bastard to still even be conscious at this point. She couldn’t even begin to guess at how many amps they’d shocked him with or how many milligrams of unknown tranquilizers were running through his system.

In total she’d seen him take at least a dozen stun rounds and nearly the same number of tranq darts. She would have been unconscious by this point if she’d taken a comparable beating.

But still… What should she do now? Turn around and walk away. It’d be the smart thing to do.

She came, she saw, she helped. Job done. Time to go home before any law enforcement showed up.

But no, she didn’t do any of that.

Instead she chose to jump right off the cliff and into the embrace of the unknown without any regard or consideration for the consequences that might follow.

“Easy there, big guy. Stay calm,” she said, as she tugged her shemagh down to her chin, in what she hoped was a soothing tone of voice. She tucked her knife back into her boot with openly telegraphed movements. She wasn’t trained for this sort of shit, but she knew enough from all of the traumatized refugees that she’d come into contact with over the years that slow and steady was a good starting point. “I’m a friendly. See? Knife’s gone.” She switched the safety back on for her gun before that too was stuffed back into the waistband of her jeans and splayed her empty palms out on either side of her body. “Gun’s put away too. I’m not gunna hurt you. I promise.”

He said nothing in reply, but she could just barely make out the slight loosening of muscular tension in his shoulders and back. She began to take slow and even steps in his direction, hands still up and out, while maintaining steady and unflinching eye contact.

“I’m just gonna come over to you and make sure that you’re alright, okay?” she asked. “Didn’t save you just for you to keel over on me, yeah?”

A huff of air escaped him and she hoped that it might’ve been his exhausted attempt at a laugh. That would be a good sign. An indication that he was beginning to see that she wasn’t a threat to him.

His right arm gave out and he nearly fell forward onto his face, but she lunged forward and somehow managed to catch his shoulders before he went down. But he was much heavier than she had thought and the brunt of his weight forced her onto her knees and his chin ended up nestled firmly in the space between her neck and shoulder. If his rapidly failing motor controls were anything to go by then he wouldn’t be conscious for much longer. The tranquilizers were definitely hitting him hard now, but it also meant that he wouldn’t be able to fight her should he choose to reject her help.

He mumbled something that she didn’t quite catch and every second that passed more and more of his body weight was being supported by her own strength.

“What did you say?” she asked, craning her head over to look down at the back of his head. Long hair, tangled and a bit on the greasy side, tickled her nose and she resisted the urge to sneeze. But her question went unanswered and his body turned into dead weight as he finally fell unconscious. She managed to turn him over, laying him with as much gentleness as she could out on the ground, bringing her fingertips up to his neck to feel for his pulse.

Strong, a bit arrhythmic, but slowing down and evening itself out bit by bit. The arrhythmia was most likely from the electricity and the rapidly slowing pulse was probably from the drugs. She’d have to make sure his pulse didn’t get too slow. With deft hands she checked him over for any other glaring injuries, but – beyond the tranquilizer darts that she ever so carefully slid out of his skin – he was mostly unharmed. He’d probably be a bruised mess by the morning, but that wasn’t something she could do much about in any case.

Ultimately, it would be better across the board to get him back to her apartment where she had a fully stocked medical kit and could monitor him more closely and with a greater degree of safety.

But she had to clean up the mess they had made before she went anywhere with him.

As quick as she could she swept through the fallen bodies, finding only two that were still alive, and put them out of their misery with her knife. After that she began the painstaking process of the dragging them all to the edge of the pier and dumping them into the water. With any luck, between the wildlife and the tide, the bodies would go at least a day or two without being discovered. On a hunch she also chose to climb up and into the busted shipping container and found a large backpack at the far end amidst the crates of cargo. Probably belonged to her mystery man. She shouldered the bag before jumping back down and formulating a plan on the easiest method to get both the bag and the man back to her car.

A fireman’s carry would be the best bet. At least until she got back to the SUV where she’d left her own bag. She could drive from there to the parking lot she’d left her own car in and transfer him over.

A quick check of his pulse found it quite a bit slower than before and thrumming at a noticeably steadier beat, but it still wasn’t into dangerous enough levels to have her worried.

Yet.

With a heave and grunt of effort she rolled him over onto his stomach, heaving him up into a standing position with her arms wrapped under his own and around his back. It didn’t help much that he was just that much broader and taller than her to make him awkward for her to hold properly. Her right leg went between his and she grabbed at his right hand with her left as she pulled it over her shoulder and placed her head under his arm. Her right arm wrapped back and around his right knee and as she dropped into a squat as she shifted his dead weight forward and across the full span of her shoulders. A few more shifts of his body had him settling into the right area for the carry before she stooped slightly to pick up his bag with her free hand.

It took a great deal more time to get back to the SUV with her recently acquired burdens, but she wasn’t going to try and rush it and drop the poor guy to crack his head open on the concrete. So far it seemed as though no one was responding to the scene. She couldn’t hear any sirens or footsteps or yelling of any sort. Just the normal ambient sounds of the Port. It was odd, but she wasn’t going to be the one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Without any further difficulties she unloaded the man into the trunk of the SUV, figuring it would be easier to transfer him from there and into her own vehicle. A third check at his neck found his pulse unchanged from the last time. Slow, steady and strong under her fingertips. Some good news at least, she thought as she tossed his backpack over the center console to join her own in the passenger seat before turning her eyes on the ignition.

No keys.

“Fuck,” she hissed, before bending down and yanking her knife back out of her boot to pry off the panel below the steering wheel. She’d have to hot-wire it, but she was a fair hand at mechanical stuff and it only took a minute or two before she had the SUV running. Climbing into the driver’s seat, she lamented the low level of technology to be found on this world. Back home she could’ve just used her knife to hack the car’s ignition to life and been on her way in half the time.

The drive back to her own car was uneventful and she was thankful for it.

The mystery man, the so-called Asset, remained unconscious throughout his transfer onto the backseats of her smaller SUV. The backpacks went into her own passenger seat, after she had extracted her keys, before she turned to her interim vehicle. She’d disconnected the wires but was concerned about the possibility of someone pulling her prints from the steering wheel and gearshift. They wouldn’t be in any database, but still it wasn’t something she really wanted anyone to have their hands on. It would be a surefire way for someone to try and track her, should they take an interest and want to.

An idea came to mind. From her bag she pulled out the bottle of Metaxa and using a scrap of cloth from a tattered blanket in her trunk she doused the rag and wiped everything down as liberally as she could. It would stink, but the alcohol should do the trick at erasing her prints or at least damaging them enough so that they’d be useless.

With the job done, she tossed the rag into the back of her car, checked on her passenger once more, before getting in and driving away. She drove normally with no speeding of any sort. It was the idiots who drove stupid that always ended up getting caught anyways. Nonetheless, it would be about a half an hour drive with the minimal late-night traffic to her complex and then she would have to figure out how to get him up the stairs and into her apartment without arousing suspicion.

She couldn’t really ask anyone for help, could she? They’d see the metal arm and start asking questions. Questions that even she didn’t know all the answers for. No, she’d have to do it alone and even as she pulled into the complex’s parking lot, she was mulling over possible strategies.

Wearily she got out and went to open the doors to the backseat, looking down at the man curled up on his side across the cheap-ass fake leather interior.

“Now would be a really good time for you to wake up, ya know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to call this quarantine word-vomit, because what else do I have to do with myself right now. Played Titanfall 2 for a bit, watching a couple Marvel movies and wham-bam here's a story. It might be garbage. I might never finish it. I don't even know where I'm going with this story at all. Who knows? It's a mystery! Personally, I'm just going to call it a writing exercise to keep my skills somewhat sharpened to make myself feel better. Given this story's - uh - "spontaneous nature" I'm not going to really keep to a strict update schedule, but I'm gunna aim for once a week. But don't hold me to that. Anywho... I figured I'd put it out there and see what happens. It's un-betaed, so forgive any typos or grammatical mistakes, because I'm not perfect. And if you're a brave soul with nothing better to do and at least a passing familiarity with the subject matter step right on up and volunteer yourself. Be safe, stay healthy and keep positive.


	2. Chapter 2

**0316 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 06, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

The man who had once been known as James Buchanan Barnes, or rather Bucky to his closest friends and family, regained consciousness gradually. In increments his senses and awareness came back to him and he found himself somewhere warm, comfortable and entirely unfamiliar. Ignoring the sounds of a bustling metropolis beyond the confines of the room, he could hear the gentle sounds of music playing at a low volume and could smell the enticing scent of fresh food, which easily overpowered the faintest hints of old cigarette smoke.

His last memories, fragile and finicky as they had tended to be over the course of the past few months, had been of an ambush by a HYDRA Reclamation Team. He’d been an absolute moron and chosen to try and take a short nap in the shipping container. He should’ve left as soon as he’d been given the chance, but – between the rough voyage and the nightmares that constantly tormented him – sleep in any capacity had been hard, or rather all but impossible, to come by.

The team had been well trained and well outfitted for taking him down non-lethally. Stun rounds and tranq darts that had taken him by surprise and worked with a great deal more effectiveness than he remembered. But the ambush, just as it had turned in the aggressor’s favor, had taken a sharp left turn when an unknown third party had joined the fray and killed three of those HYDRA bastards in an equal number of seconds.

She – because between her height and shape she was definitely a woman – had swept across the AO with speed and precision clad in just a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, with a combat knife in her left hand and a semi-automatic pistol in her right. Her offensive had been precise and brutal to an unnatural degree. Perhaps not quite to his level of ability, but definitely far beyond that of an average human. But the ease with which she engaged her opponents spoke of extensive combat experience.

She was absolutely lethal.

In those few seconds, barely even a minute after she had engaged, she had killed nine men and hadn’t even gotten a scratch on her. And then the fight had been over and he’d been tumbling over the edge into unconsciousness. Her voice, low and accented, had been ringing in his ears and he had unwillingly entrusting his well-being into the hands of a complete stranger.

His last thoughts had been a fervent hope – rather a nearly prayer-like plea – that she wasn’t HYDRA.

He wouldn’t have put it passed them to be having inter-faction squabbles now. Fighting amongst themselves over who got to be the next top dog with Alexander Pierce dead. Like carrion birds fighting over a fresh carcass, defeating one another for a chance to devour the choicest pieces of meat.

That’s all he was to them, after all.

But it seemed like his prayer had been answered – at least for now – as he opened his eyes to the soft lighting of a lamp and the sight of an off-white plaster ceiling. Not to the sensation of a stainless-steel lab table, the confines of a containment cell or the burning hot-cold embrace of a cryostasis chamber.

He took a few moments to simply breathe. Drawing in the warm scent of food, which had his incredibly empty stomach growling in displeasure, and exhaling in a gust of pure relief at still being free. He didn’t even feel that injured when taking into account how much electricity and drugs he’d mostly likely had coursing through his system. Such a low level of pain that it was easily ignored. It was no worse than the ache that his arm had made him feel him every day since it had been attached. And even if it was worse, the home of a stranger with unknown intentions was no place to show weakness.

“Oh, you’re awake. You burned through those tranqs a lot faster than I’d thought you would.”

He turned his head, strangely without the compulsion to surge to his feet and take action, and laid eyes on who could only have been the woman from the ambush. The one who had – he would only admit in the sanctity of his own mind – most likely saved him from being successfully recaptured by HYDRA. And in a bizarre and unfortunate turn of events, instead of performing an instant threat assessment – which is what he should’ve been doing – he could only think of how beautiful she was to him in that moment.

His mysterious savior.

A guardian angel.

Or so the muddled remnants of his drug-addled psyche foolishly called her.

She wasn’t a traditional beauty by any means, all symmetrical features and glossy perfection like the actresses he’d watched avidly in the past, but she was lovely to him nonetheless. Tanned skin, lightly smattered with faint freckles across her cheekbones and the bridge of her slightly-too-large nose. The silvery-pink line, thin but quite visible, of an old scar that trailed from just below her left eye and across her cheek to vanish underneath her jawline. Her hair was a pale ashen blonde, thick and lustrous in the yellow-hued lamplight, and tied up in a messy knot atop her head. And her eyes, a soft shade of grayish-green, with a starburst of stormy blue around the pupils.

They were lovely.

She was lovely.

And then came the inevitable threat assessment as she had leant forward from her seated position on the couch. His eyes unintentionally trailing along the line of her arm – muscular and liberally inked in intricate designs from shoulder to wrist – to the items spread out on the surface of the coffee table. He sat up abruptly, flinching at a brief surge of pain from his undoubtedly bruised ribs and abdomen, but ignored it all in favor of preparing himself for a possible conflict.

There on the table was an open box of pizza, piled high with toppings that made his mouth water just to look at, along with four handguns and half a dozen knives of varying lengths and widths. The guns were all unloaded, a smart decision on her part, and had their corresponding magazines set off to the side and the knives were all arranged in a neat and orderly line. But what had him on edge was that three of the firearms and four of the knives he knew had come from on his person and inside his bag.

She had searched him and gone through his things.

He flicked his eyes back towards her, watching as she simply pulled another slice of pizza from the box. It was off-putting that she wasn’t as on guard as he was. Didn’t she know he was a threat? Someone of her experience shouldn’t be this calm. He could kill her then and there. Snap her neck before she could even think to counter him. She seemed to have finally noticed his heated stare and stopped halfway through attempting to take a bite of her food. A moment passed by and somehow, she seemed to know exactly what it was that had drawn his ire and caused his tension.

“Yes, I patted you down and went through your bag. Don’t look so offended,” she said bluntly, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that there was a biologically enhanced super-assassin with a fragmented excuse for a memory sitting on the carpet in the middle of her living room. “I only took your weapons. Didn’t mess with the rest of your things. Oh, and by the way, if you’re planning on doing something stupid, like running away or trying to fight me, I’ll have you know that this is a civilian apartment complex that houses at least six families with small children, a dozen or so very adorable and friendly house pets and it’s only three o’ clock in the morning.”

She set the slice of pizza down and shifted around to face him. Her facial expression shifting from easy nonchalance, further perpetuated by her casual t-shirt and sweatpants, and into something far more serious. Her heartrate was calm to his ears and there were no micro-expressions that would clue him in to any sort of attempt at dishonesty. Whatever she planned to say was going to be the honest truth.

Or she was a very, very talented liar.

“I understand that you’re on the run from those fuckers who ambushed you on the pier, but I’m not them. Hell, I don’t even know who they were. Didn’t stop me from deciding to kill them all to keep your ass safe.” He was confused, but she was far from done, and in a corner of his mind he noted that she was still speaking softly despite her fervor, not all that much louder than the music she had playing. It was simply a way to muffle their conversation from any unwanted ears. She had even pulled the blinds closed on what looked like a door to a balcony to hide them from view. “And don’t ask me why I did it, because I don’t even know myself. But I did and now you’re here and you’re safe. For now, at least. So, I’ve got a shower you can use, a bed or couch you can sleep on and this box of pizza that I definitely won’t be able to finish on my own. Take it or leave it.”

What?

This woman was crazy. That had to be it. She was insane. What sort of person just went and offered that to an absolute stranger? A stranger who she knew – who she had to at least realize – was incredibly dangerous and unpredictable. Someone who could, at any moment now, decide to kill her in one of a hundred increasingly creative ways if he felt so inclined.

Not that he would. At least intentionally.

But she had to be crazy. It was the only way any of this made any sort of rational sense.

And yet he found himself mulling over her idiotic, impossible offer. Any choice he could make in this situation was loaded with inherent and incalculable risks. Every logical instinct, driven into his mind from his training and conditioning, told him to grab his things and leave as quickly as possible. The Soldier would choose to run. To go and find some other place to hide before continuing on his seemingly never-ending race away from HYDRA. Away from everything in search of peace and quiet and safety.

He wouldn’t go back to HYDRA. He couldn’t. He’d kill himself before he’d let that happen.

So, he should go. He should leave right then and there.

But he was exhausted and wanted to sleep in a real bed, even a couch would do, and hope that for once the resurging memories and nightmares would let him have a few precious hours of rest.

He was covered in a layer of dirt, dried sweat and old blood and wanted to take a boiling hot shower and try to scrub away the sins that he knew would follow him for the rest of his life.

And he was desperately hungry and the open box of steaming hot pizza on the coffee table was a temptation that he was loath to surrender to his rampant paranoia and the desire to run.

“Where’s my bag?” he asked, his voice rough and raspy from such a long period of disuse.

She seemed disheartened with a brief moment, before schooling her features into a bland neutrality, gesturing with her hand to the area behind him. Twisting around he saw it, black fabric and worn straps, nestled in the corner between the wall and the side of the couch just above where his head had been. He grabbed it with his flesh hand before rising unsteadily up onto his boot-clad feet.

“You’re really just going to go then, huh? Not even a thank you for saving your life?”

He looked down at her for a moment at her outburst, eyes unintentionally flickering over towards his confiscated weaponry, before sliding back to meet her own. She looked angry and disappointed and had obviously misunderstood his intentions. And he found himself wanting to rectify that – to allay her confusion – feeling unexpectedly and irrationally displeased with the frown her face had settled into.

“Shower,” he grunted out in a clumsy attempt to calm her fears, a skill which had gotten quite rusty with nearly seven decades of disuse, before looking around the apartment for the door to the bathroom.

He’d stay.

At least for the next twenty-four hours to rest and refuel before moving on. She’d offered him her ill-advised hospitality and he had chosen to accept it. After all this was a vast improvement over his stowaway lifestyle onboard the cargo ship that he’d crossed the Atlantic on from Buenos Aires.

“Oh,” she said, her expression smoothing back out into a far more pleasant appearance, complete with a small smile pulling at the edge of her lips. “Bathroom’s through that door there and on your left, then.”

“Thanks.”

And so, she was left to stew on the couch with her thoughts while her mysterious house guest, whose name she still didn’t even know, shut the bathroom door behind him.

The whole interaction had gone far better than she had thought it would. She’d expected a fight. It was the whole reason she’d taken his guns and knives away. Not that he was truly unarmed in the normal understanding of the word. That metal limb of his would hurt like a motherfucker if he landed a solid hit with it and she’d bet it was a hell of a lot stronger than his other arm.

She knew what it was like to be hit by a robotic limb quite well and it was not a feeling she was keen to experience any more than absolutely necessary.

Also, in her expectations of a scuffle, she had exaggerated the number of families with children that lived in the apartment complex. There were only three, not six. But he didn’t know that and it had all been reliant on her being correct in the assumption that he had been forced into his life as a weapon. If somewhere deep down beneath all of his trauma he was actually a good person who had been turned into something monstrous. If that was as true then there was no way he would want to risk engaging her and running the risk of injuring a bystander. Especially if that bystander could turn out to be a child.

But he hadn’t reacted with violence at all.

At first, he had been completely relaxed. Just lying there on her floor and looking at her, his blue-gray eyes soft and drowsy, and his face without an ounce of apparent worry. But when she’d drawn his eyes over towards the table, that was when he’d tensed up and gone on high alert. But he still hadn’t attacked. Hadn’t tried to recover his weapons. He’d just watched and listened to what she had to say.

Her head turned, instinctually drawn towards a new noise, as she heard the shower turn on, before looking back down at the coffee table and its motley array of items. She leant forward to pick up her abandoned slice of pizza and closed the lid to the keep the heat in before settling back against the cushions to eat, think and wait for her guest to emerge.

Obviously, some form of proper introduction would have to be the next step. At least on her part.

She wondered if he would feel comfortable enough to share his name.

Did he even know it? Did he remember whoever he must’ve been before his life as the Asset? Did he even have a past life before then? Or had he always been their prisoner?

The mere thought of him having been raised in that sort of lifestyle made her grind her teeth in rage.

Her anger, a banked fire that always sat at the center of her chest just waiting for an excuse to flare up into an inferno, ignited as she imagined what sort of horrors this poor man must’ve suffered at the hands of his captors. His jailers. Brainwashing, conditioning, torture, indoctrination and who knew what else and for how long. Just how long had he been suffering under their control?

It was because of that, the very thought of what might’ve been done to him, that made her vow to remain one hundred percent honest at all times with him. At least in regards to her intentions.

Lay out all the facts and his possible options and let him make a choice of his own free will.

If he was amenable, she might even ask some questions of her own. Particularly in regards to the men she had killed that night. It would be infinitely better to know who she might’ve just gone and pissed right the fuck off. Just incase they chose to kick in her door at some point in the future and try to put a bullet through her skull.

A soft ping came from the smart phone that mingled in and amongst the collection of handguns and combat knives on the table. Stuffing the last bit of pizza crust into her mouth, she grabbed the device and unlocked it to read the notification on the main screen. Grinning to herself and shaking her head in exasperation, she quickly opened the messaging application and typed a reply to her worried partner.

He’d been monitoring the situation from the very beginning and still was right to this very second. All the way from her confrontation at the Port until her guest had vanished into the bathroom. He was linked with every piece of technology she had at her disposal. It was in his programming to be – at all times – concerned for her well-being and frequently became a mother-hen when her condition slipped negatively. She assured him that all was well, not that he could do anything from his current location, and just told him to continue watching just incase things did take a turn for the worst.

But she hoped they wouldn’t.

As she set the phone back down, she heard the shower shut off and wondered how much longer he would take in there. She wasn’t in any true rush and was more than willing to allow him as long as he would like to get himself clean, but she was unexpectedly eager to talk to him again. Though, at some point in the near future, she would like to get a few hours of sleep. But she could hold out for a while longer. She’d gone longer periods of time without rest before and it would be interesting to see if she could draw him just the slightest bit more out of his shell.

Another five minutes passed, which she used to absentmindedly inspect his handguns again because their make and model were unfamiliar to her, until he emerged from the bathroom. The faintest cloud of cleanly scented steam followed in his wake as he walked out. As he entered the living room once more, she couldn’t help but take him in, both from an analytical standpoint and for her own enjoyment.

Far be it from her to not take a moment to admire the scenery.

His hair, the dark brown turned nearly black from the water, was slicked back and away from his face with the tips just barely grazing his shoulders. The scruffy beard that had hidden most of the lower half of his face had been shaven down to stubble and revealed a strong and square jaw with just a hint of a cleft chin. His face had been cleaned of dirt and even his eyes somehow seemed brighter, clearer and less burdened. A clean body and clean pair of clothes seemed to have made all the difference.

And her assessment was not far off the mark because he did feel a whole heck of a lot better.

Physically, at least.

His mind could still be compared the contents of a blender, but there wasn’t too much that he could do or knew how to do to remedy that. But perhaps that was to be his penance for all of the suffering he had caused? A jumbled mess of a mind in exchange – a duly deserved punishment – for all of the blood he’d spilled for HYDRA.

His rescuer was still sitting on the couch, reclined against the cushions and eyeing him up. Her other arm, just as intricately tattooed as the first, gestured to the empty chair that matched the couch.

“Take a seat. Have some pizza.”

And he did just that after setting his backpack down against a nearby wall.

Grabbing the chair with his metal arm and dragged it around the table so that he sat across from her and had unobstructed sightlines to the both the balcony and the front door. There were three points of interest that he had to keep his eyes on at all times. Her and the two most easily accessible modes of ingress or egress in the apartment. Even as he settled himself down, sitting on the front half of the seat, he knew he was far too worked up to even think about letting his guard down for an instant.

She flipped the lid of the box open and he tentatively reached for a slice as she did, more than eager to collect on her offer of a free meal. They ate in silence, which he appreciated because he didn’t really want to talk at all. Or rather, he didn’t know what to say. But the pizza was delicious. Far surpassing the quality of the scraps he’d had to steal on the ship to keep himself fed by an immeasurable margin.

Out of the eleven remaining slices – she must’ve eaten one while he was in the shower – he ate nine and she had the other two. She had finished long before he did and retreated into the kitchen to fill two glasses with water. He had stopped eating when she stood, wary of what she might’ve been doing, and kept a close eye on her to make sure she didn’t try to slip anything into his glass.

He might’ve been grateful to her and thought she was pretty, but he didn’t trust her.

He didn’t – and couldn’t – trust anyone.

But she didn’t add anything. It was just water and he downed the glass with as much fervor as he had devoured the food. She even got up two more times to get him refills. But the fifteen minutes it had taken him to eat and drink to his heart’s content had passed and it was obvious to him that she wanted to talk.

“Feeling better now?” she asked, one of her eyebrows rising as he wiped his mouth clean against the sleeve of his shirt.

He nodded sharply, before he cleared his throat and said, “Yes. Thank you.”

She smiled. “Good. And you’re welcome. Least I could do. But now that that’s out of the way, I suppose it would be the best time for introductions, yeah?”

He waited, sitting quietly and just watching her and occasionally glancing towards the balcony and the door, but she didn’t seem to be put off from his staring or his need to check the entrances.

“My name’s Rhiannon. Rhiannon Lastimosa,” she introduces, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. “You can call me Rhia, if you’d like. And you are?”

An unexpected welling of panic took him without warning. He straightened, not even realizing that he had begun to slouch ever so slightly, before trying to keep himself from outwardly reacting anymore.

His name. She wanted to know his name. Objectively he knew who he was. The man he had been before HYDRA had gotten their hands on him. He’d gone to the Smithsonian and seen the exhibit. He’d read about it in books and on the internet when he’d had a spare moment to breathe during his escape.

James Buchanan Barnes. Born March 10th, 1917 in the borough of Brooklyn, New York City, New York. The eldest of four children born to George and Winnifred Barnes, with three younger sisters. A sergeant in the United States Army assigned to the 107th Infantry Regiment. Serial number 3255703856898. Former member of the Howling Commandos. Known as Bucky to his friends and family. Best friend of Captain America. Best friend of Steve…

No. That wasn’t right.

But she wanted to know his name.

What did he say?

Did he have any right to say that he was actually James Barnes?

He looked up, unaware that his gaze had dropped down to his knees while he’d wallowed in the sudden rush of panic and fear and anxiety, and found her mouth moving but he couldn’t hear her. It was like he was underwater with everything muffled. All he could hear was his rapid heartbeat, the rush and pulse of blood in his head. She was talking to him and her arms were twitching like she wanted to reach out.

And then he could hear again, focusing all of his attention on her instead of the chaos in his head.

“Hey. Come on, focus. Focus on me. Just breathe.” She took an exaggerated inhale and he found himself mimicking her without thought. “In.” She exhaled. “And out.” Together they worked their way through a repetitive series of slow and measured breaths until he had recovered to some semblance of normalcy and she was no longer afraid of him hyperventilating himself into unconsciousness. Or lashing out violently.

“Sorry,” he mumbled lowly, looking away, ashamed and kicking himself for turning into such a mess in front of her. It was weakness. He’d shown weakness! What a fucking disappointment he was.

“No. I’m sorry. Should’ve expected you’d have a bad reaction. Those assholes kept calling you the Asset so I should’ve guessed that you’d have trouble giving me your name.” She brought a hand up to her forehead, rubbing at her hairline, before pinching at the bridge of her nose and letting out a sigh. The sensation of a heavy weight settled itself in his gut at her reaction. “You don’t have to tell me your name if you don’t feel capable of it. Or if you don’t remember it. I just…”

“James.”

Her head snapped up in shock and surprise.

“What?”

“James,” he says again, barking out the name and swallowing in an attempt to bury the nausea that still churned in his stomach. A remnant symptom of the panic attack he’d just suffered. “My name is James.”

“Oh.” A smile, larger than any of those before it, pulls her lips up and apart and gave him a brief flash of pearly white teeth. She shifts on the couch and he thinks just for a brief second that he likes the look of her smiling more than anything in the world. “Well in that case, it’s very nice to meet you, James.”

He bows his head in reciprocation. Almost all of his energy for conversation had fled him with the admission of the name. He might not ever be the man known as Bucky Barnes again, but he could try to at least be James Barnes. There wasn’t as much weight and history attached to that name in his mind.

He watches as the warmth in her expression falls after a few more seconds and her eyes looking down for the moment before rising as she spoke, “So those people I saved you from. Who were they?”

“HYDRA,” he admits gruffly and sees a flicker of recognition from her. But she doesn’t ask any more questions than that, just nodding her head in understanding and seeming to move on from there. The existence of HYDRA within S.H.I.E.L.D. had been made public knowledge after the events in Washington D.C. It should come as no surprise that she would know who and what the organization was, at least in broad terms, as most of the world now knew at least the bare minimum.

“I’m assuming that you don’t plan on staying for very long, right?”

He nods and she looks entirely unsurprised by his answer.

“I’d like you to rethink that plan,” she says and – before he can outwardly protest – continues. “The leader of that team was receiving a ping that led them right to your location. Once I got you here, I did a scan of my own and found that there is a tracking device of some sort embedded inside your arm.”

He freezes, looking over at his metal arm before starting to get up from the chair, twisting to get his bag and make a break for it. He had to leave then. Right now. They knew where he was. They were tracking him. He had to go. Had to run before they found him. Before they found her and hurt her for even being in his presence.

“Calm down and sit down,” she barks out, like a superior officer might’ve in the military. He looks down at her, confused and on the verge of another attack, to find her completely unworried by the revelation. “The signal is being jammed. They don’t know where you are right now. I wasn’t lying to you earlier. You are _safe_ here. I swear it.”

Could he believe her?

Against his better judgement he sits back down, fighting against the urge to run.

“How?”

“I’m a dab hand when it comes to tech. Wasn’t that hard,” she says, confident and a bit smug, before going serious once more. “But if you want to be truly free, we’re going to have to get that tracker out of your arm and I can do it, but not right now.”

He looks at her, tilting his head to the side like a dog might, asking a silent question for her to elaborate.

“You’d have to stick around if you want me to help you. For the week.” He grimaces at the thought of staying in one place for so long and she seems to understand his dislike of the idea. “I know you don’t like the sound of that, but that’s how it’ll have to be. I have to be at work all of this coming week and if I miss even one day of work I’m fired and will have no source of income. But every other weekend I take a trip up north to visit a friend and he has all of the tools I would need to remove the tracker without hurting you or damaging your arm.”

He didn’t like it. But the chance to have the tracker, something that he should have been smart enough to at least expect HYDRA to have put in him, removed was an opportunity that would be downright foolish of him to refuse. He could try and force her, of course. But he had a feeling that that would just end up in a fight as she was clearly the sort who couldn’t and wouldn’t be cowed with a show of force.

No. It would just end up with one of them dead.

He didn’t want to fight her and he definitely didn’t want to kill her. He didn’t want to kill anyone if he absolutely didn’t have to, actually. 

It was just a week.

The signal was being jammed by whatever it was that she had done and the capture team was dead by their own hands. He could survive being in close proximity to another person for that long, right? He’d keep his distance at all times, keep their interactions as brief and infrequent as he possibly could and do his best to try to not get attached to her.

That was the biggest threat. Growing fond of her. Getting attached. It was almost inevitable after spending nearly seventy years without any sort of proper human interaction.

He’d just been given orders. Go here. Kill. Come back. Good dog.

But was he willing to take a chance on believing in her promises?

Was he?

Apparently, he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's a week? I don't know. Update schedule? Ha! What's that? Got this written and edited, so here you go!  
> Had to watch Civil War to see if I could get an accurate read on how to write a post-HYDRA Bucky who knows who he is but is still in the process of recovering his memories and coming to terms with all that he's done as the Winter Soldier. Hope I did alright with that and displaying how a panic attack might be for him. I've never had one myself, at least to this degree, so it's difficult to try and conceptualize how someone might feel when they feel like the world is coming down around their ears. Got a vague outline of the next couple of chapters that I hope to adhere to, but we'll see how that goes.


	3. Chapter 3

**2136 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 06, 2014 | NEW YORK CITY, NEW YORK**

Steven Grant Rogers had not been having a very good year.

Events since January seemed to have just blurred together in one great big mess of terrible and awful. And yet, somehow fixing everything that had happened since then was something that the world seemed to think was solely his responsibility. He had attended dozens of public press conferences and private meetings with government officials from all across the globe. All of them in an attempt to assuage their worries and fears about the damage caused by the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. and subsequent unveiling of HYDRA on the public stage as a global threat once more.

It was Fury that should’ve been answering these questions, but the former Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. had chosen to stay dead and remove himself from the public eye. And so, it had fallen onto the Captain’s shoulders to answer for it all.

And how did he hate it.

The only saving grace had been when Stark had chosen to step up to bat and take the brunt of the political weight away from him. Apparently, Tony could only stand the sight of him floundering under the political pressure for a limited period of time before choosing to intervene on his behalf.

The multi-billionaire had very quickly delegated several legal teams and public relations specialists under his employ to work on damage control. In addition, Stark had – after a very long discussion with the others potential team members – openly declared the official reformation of the Avengers as a peacekeeping body. Something that he had hoped would sooth some of the world’s ruffled feathers. Advertised as an organization meant to step up into the shoes left vacant by S.H.I.E.L.D. and combat those forces that normal law enforcement and militaries were unable to.

A smart choice and an incredibly necessary one with the appearance of unnaturally powerful threats, both superpowered and technological, rising by the month. A trend that seemed to have been on the uptick constantly since the turn of the 21st Century.

But with that heat taken away from him, Steve had been able to commit more resources towards far more important pursuits – in his opinion – than playing nice with politicians.

First amongst them was hunting down the scattered remnants of HYDRA. Fury and his remaining loyal agents had been in contact, which varying degrees of infrequency, and had been passing along valuable intelligence that they had managed to accumulate.

Possible strongholds, hideouts and bunkers scattered across the continents. Lists of agents that had managed to maintain their covers after January and had continued their business as usual without any repercussions. Affiliated corporations, private sponsors and off-shore bank accounts that had kept their machinations under the radar and well-funded.

And Steve was hunting them all down relentlessly so that they could pay for what they had done.

He would destroy them. Burn it all, root and stem. Once and for all, like he should have before.

Because, beyond all of the damage they had wrought over the decades, they had been the ones who had taken Bucky away from him.

In Steve’s mind that was one of the only positive things that had come from the unveiling of HYDRA to the public. The knowledge that James Buchanan Barnes had survived his fall from the train in the Alps. That the best friend he’d had for nearly his entire childhood was alive. That the man that he had loved – still loved – more than anything was still alive.

But the uncovering of that information had been so incredibly painful to experience. Before that heated battle on the highway, the Winter Soldier had just been a dangerous combatant.

_“I know who killed Fury. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists. The ones who do call him the Winter Soldier and he's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”_

_“So, he's a ghost story.”_

_“Five years ago, I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff. I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me.”_

A super-soldier loyal to HYDRA and they’d been equally matched.

Steve had sprinted onto the scene to save Natasha from a bullet through the back of her head and was met with the ringing clang of that metal arm meeting his shield with nearly equal, bone-shattering force before being kicked away. Steve’s running and rolling, avoiding the wave of gunfire sent his way. The assault rifle’s magazine clicking empty. Surging forwards over the hood of a car to kick the machine pistol out of his hands when he’d attempted to reload. The series of pistol rounds blocked with the shield at less than two yards away followed by the transition into hand-to-hand combat, where Steve was certain he would have gained an advantage.

But that flurried exchange of strikes had been anything but in his favor. The Soldier had matched him blow for blow. His equal in strength and speed and skill. But then he’d managed to gain that split-second advantage, flipping his metal-armed assailant over his shoulders, and ripping that mask away from the lower half of his face.

And then his enemy hadn’t been his enemy any longer.

It had been Bucky.

Cold-eyed and merciless and without any memory of who he was.

_“Who the hell is Bucky?”_

Those words had hit harder than any punch ever could have. His stomach had seemingly dropped down to his toes and his heart had surged up into his throat in that instant. He’d been frozen and only saved from a bullet between his eyes by the timely arrival of Sam and a grenade launched by Natasha.

But all he could see or think about was his former best friend. His lover that the world had never known about. For their own safety, of course, given the rampant homophobia of the early 1900s. But Bucky had been the most important person in his whole world after the death of his mother.

His closest friend and the love of his life had been turned into a weapon by his oldest enemy.

And it was entirely his fault.

He should’ve gone back and looked for the body.

They’d known that Zola had done things, but at the time there hadn’t been any significant changes to make note of. There hadn’t been any clear signs of experimentation and Buck hadn’t been able to remember most of what they’d done to him. Not a single noticeable increase in his strength, speed, healing rate or muscle mass. But somehow, he had survived the fall from the train. He’d survived and then been found by someone and turned over into the custody of HYDRA.

Bucky’s presumed death had broken him and all his thoughts from then had spiraled down into a pit filled with nothing but rage and grief. The attack on HYDRA Headquarters had been that rage and grief made manifest. They’d pay for killing him. They’d all pay.

And then the _Valkyrie_ had been damaged and was out of control, Schmidt had vanished into some sort of wormhole and the Tesseract had fallen through the plane and dropped into the ocean. But in that moment Steve had seen an out. A way to escape from the pain.

So, he’d crashed the plane and tried to die.

That decision haunted him now. The thought that when he’d crashed the _Valkyrie_ Bucky had still been alive somewhere. That if Steve had successfully committed suicide then there would’ve been no chance of him breaking through HYDRA’s brainwashing.

_“He's gonna be there, you know?”_

_“I know.”_

_“Look, whoever he used to be, the guy he is now, I don't think he's the kind you save. He's the kind you stop.”_

_“I don't know if I can do that.”_

_“Well, he might not give you a choice. He doesn't know you.”_

_“He will.”_

It had been a vow going into his fight against Buck in the data center of last INSIGHT Helicarrier.

A promise to himself that had put him a disadvantage throughout the whole fight, trying to accomplish two tasks simultaneously: switching the targeting blade and fending off Bucky. Fending off a combatant that was doing his level best to kill him with non-lethal force.

Even when a bullet clipped his side and burned. Even when a combat knife had been driven handle-deep into his shoulder. Hating himself when he heard the skeletal crunch of Bucky’s normal arm being dislocated and screaming internally as he’d wrapped himself around his lover like a constrictor snake in an impossibly tight choke-hold. Ignoring the three gunshots he took in the back when clambering back up to the array.

He took it all as his punishment. His duly deserved retribution for abandoning and leaving for dead the one person who had been the most important in the world to him.

Hearing that scream of agony. The cry of pain that had emptied his mind of every other thought but the desperate, instinctual need to go and save the love of his life, even as the Helicarrier was exploding into pieces around them and falling out of the sky. Putting every ounce of strength – even as his limbs trembled and burned and he could feel the sickly warm ooze of his own blood trailing down his skin – he had had left into lifting the steel beam to allow Bucky to crawl free.

_“You know me.”_

_“No, I don’t!”_

The gut-wrenching pain of seeing the blinding panic and confusion and fear and rage on his face.

_“You’ve known me your whole life. Your name is James Buchanan Barnes…”_

_“SHUT UP!”_

_“I’m not gonna fight you.”_

He’d thrown off his helmet and dropped the shield, letting it fall into the Potomac without regret.

_"I love you.”_

Allowed himself to be tackled onto the glass and pinned down without a struggle.

_“You’re my mission.”_

Taking the six punches to the face from the metal arm without a care because he just couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t fight him.

_“You’re my mission!”_

_“Then finish it. ‘Cause I’m with you to the end of the line.”_

And then he’d blacked out with nothing but the image of his lover’s horrified expression and the sensation of falling and rushing wind to accompany him down into the river.

All of it – every thought, scenario and memory – had been quickly added into his usual repertoire of nightmare fuel. Horrifying dreams that had only gotten worse since he’d started reading through the KGB file on the Winter Soldier that Natasha had procured for him.

The graphic and analytical descriptions of what they’d done to him. To his body and his mind. It was both horrific and sickening to the extent where Steve had more than once had to rush to the bathroom to vomit. Wiping away the endless tracks of tears from his cheeks. It filled him with the most terrible pain to think of anyone, not just the man he loved, enduring that level of mental and physical trauma.

But he had remained undaunted by the monumental task he had chosen for himself. He had fully committed himself to finding Bucky after being discharged from the hospital. It didn’t matter to him that Bucky had nearly killed him. The bruises and gunshots and stab wound had healed. And any others he might accumulate he would endure and then they would heal as well.

Steve needed to find Bucky.

He had to.

Even if it was only just to make sure he could receive the proper help and find somewhere safe to live. And yet, while Steve was hopeful that Bucky would be able to make a full recovery and that they could try and be together again, he knew it was statistically unlikely. He would just have to content himself with ensuring that Buck had access to whatever he might need.

However, the search for his former lover was turning out to be far more difficult that hunting HYDRA. Even with Sam’s help and the various other resources at his disposal, Bucky was proving himself to be a master as staying under the radar. Unsurprising for an assassin of his caliber, according to the file and Natasha’s testimony.

Steve suspected that Barton and Romanov would have been just as difficult to track if they had similarly chosen to go completely off-grid.

There had only been three sightings of Bucky in the past eight months and only one of them had been early enough that they could act on it and deploy.

He was grasping at straws and neither Sam, Natasha or even J.A.R.V.I.S. had managed to find anything else of use. The last update of information in regards to Bucky’s whereabouts had been nearly a month ago in southern Bolivia. Just a few brief seconds of poor-quality footage from CCTV cameras at an open-air market. Steve, Sam and Clint, who had generously offered his services as a translator, had taken off from the Avengers Tower in the Quinjet not even an hour later. But upon their arrival they’d turned up nearly nothing. No traces of Bucky to be found except for a few words from an elderly woman that had sold him some produce.

There had been nothing but silence since then and Steve was beginning to come to the conclusion that maybe Bucky didn’t want to be found. Maybe he had remembered enough to know that Steve had gone and abandoned him in 1945 and wanted nothing to do with him?

And maybe that was what Steve deserved for all that he had done.

Which up led up to that very moment, where he sat despondently on the couch in his apartment within the Tower. They’d been on a mission several hours earlier to a minor HYDRA outpost hidden in the forested depths of Canada. Nothing difficult. But after the team debriefing and shared meal, Steve had decided to take a moment to sit and relax after showering. Trying to unwind from the combat high that still sung in his veins.

But, instead, he’d found himself falling down a rabbit-hole of introspection.

He should have been trying to get some sleep. He knew he should’ve been. But the mere thought of the nightmares that he knew were waiting for him on the other side made the idea extremely unappealing. So, he sat and stared out across the New York skyline thinking about Bucky. Remembering their shared past and all the good memories they had been with one another.

Hoping that he was alright, wherever he was.

Wondering what he might be doing right now.

Wishing that he could be there to help.

Praying that they’d be reunited sometime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this time, but writing from Steve's POV was very difficult for some reason. As Chris Evans might say, "I don't wike it." because that man is definitely about five years old internally and it is precious. But I felt it was something that needed to be done to gain an outside perspective and set the atmosphere that I'm going for. But oof, the feels when watching Winter Soldier once again. Never going to stop being my one of my top three favorite Marvel movies. It's gonna be a rough road going forward, but Steve's got hope. Next chapter should be up soon-ish. Next day or two probably. It's written, but I gotta edit and proofread. But who knows, maybe it'll be up later today if I feel like it. Spontaneity! And also, thank you to everyone who has left kudos, comments, subscribed and bookmarked. It means a lot to know that people are actually enjoying this story.


	4. Chapter 4

**1737 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 12, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

As Rhiannon pulled into her parking spot behind the apartment complex, exhausted after a busy day at work as a mechanic at the Port, she couldn’t help but reflect on the past week.

On the previous Friday, she had done something so incredibly stupid and irresponsible and yet still could not find in herself to regret making the choice at all. Rather, she was wholly convinced that she would make that very same decision again and again and again without fail. No matter the difficulties, both minor and not-so-minor, that it had caused her. She would, in a heartbeat, choose to once again reach out and offer her help to a soul in pain.

She had come to the conclusion that at some point she had become the generous and self-sacrificing type. The new knowledge did not bring her any source of comfort, but it was a good thing to note in the event she made any other foolish decisions based on the newfound instincts of her bleeding heart.

But ultimately, despite the struggles, the week had gone far better than she had actually expected it to.

The bar was set low, however. And her interpretation of things going well was the fact that neither she nor her guest had physical maimed or killed one another and he hadn’t bolted at the first chance.

That Saturday had been a mess of tension and tip-toeing around one another. Like a pair of prowlers that didn’t know each other and were sizing each other up for an all-out brawl. But just like in the natural world, most top predators didn’t want to fight each other if they could help it so nothing had come of their posturing.

It was a decent enough analogy for her and James’ relationship on that first day. Just a pair of dangerous strangers with a wealth of combat experience who had formed a fragile truce but were still wrapping their heads around that fact.

She had taken a cat-nap after ensuring that James had anything he might need for the next few hours. She’d offered him the remote to the television and told him that he could watch whatever he’d like. She’d given him free range to the motley assortment of books – made of real paper and everything – that she had begun accumulating for no particular reason. And finally, a very brief overview of her fridge and kitchen cabinets and the assortment of a foodstuffs and beverages found therein if he happened to get hungry or thirsty again.

“ _Mi casa es tu casa_ ,” she’d told him blithely, unconsciously slipping into one of the few languages she could fluently speak, and there had been a faint quirk of his lips in mute appreciation.

And she’d slept for those few short hours, just on the cusp of wakefulness with her knives and gun by her bedside and her door opened just a crack, but woke to a peaceful and undisturbed apartment. She could just hear the sound of the music that she had forgotten to turn off and the subtle sounds of another person in the living room. The inhale and exhale of relaxed breathing, the faintest whir of mechanical parts shifting with movement and the raspy sound of pages being flipped.

She had been honestly surprised that he had chosen to stay.

A glance at the clock on the nightstand had told her that it was only just past seven in the morning.

Rhiannon had peered around the corner and into the living room, as quietly as she possibly could have, to try and catch a glimpse of her house guest in his most relaxed state. She was absolutely certain that any sense of absolutely calm would be shattered as soon as she emerged. With that in mind, she wanted to take an opportunity to see how James could truly be when not fearing for his life and safety. And true to her prediction she caught the briefest glimpse of him sitting on the couch and reading a book.

Then he glanced up, eyes just peering over the edge of the worn, second-hand novel and looked entirely unsurprised to see her standing there. But there had been no untoward reactions to her presence. No tensing up. No reaching for a weapon. He had just bookmarked the page and set it down on the coffee table with gentle care, right next to all of his guns and knives that were still laid out in an orderly line. All of them gleamed like new so he must’ve taken the time to clean them while she had slept.

“Good book?” she had asked, trying to start their day off on a lighthearted note. “ _Gone with the Wind_. It’s a popular classic, or so I’ve heard. Haven’t gotten around to reading it yet.”

His brows had furrowed in thought and a moment of tense and slightly awkward silence had followed. She had almost given up on getting a response, reminding herself that he had been fairly reticent about speaking, and had begun to turn to go the bathroom.

But then he had spoken, voice still rough and rasping from apparent disuse, and had chosen to drop an absolute bombshell into the middle of her morning routine.

“Remembered reading it before. When it got published in ‘36,” he had said, looking down at the book before glancing back up at her with such a hurt and confused expression as if he didn’t know how to properly convey his own thoughts or wasn’t entirely sure that what he was saying was the truth. “Think I liked it then. Wanted to see if I still did.”

Say what now?

And so, she found out, after asking a couple of hesitant questions, that her presumed thirty-something year old house guest had in fact been born in 1917 and was ninety-seven years old. James had clammed up shortly after admitting his year of birth, breaking eye contact and studying the contents of the table with a single-mindedness she knew was a method of evasion and distraction.

So, she had let him be, not about to push his limits and undo the foundation of trust she had been attempting to establish, but had left him with her own little nugget of truth to even the playing field.

“Well, you look astoundingly good for a man of your age, but it doesn’t matter to me when you were born,” she’d said, keeping in line with her vow of total honesty. “After all, I was born in 2586 on an entirely different planet. So, I’ve really got no room to judge.”

That had gotten his attention alright, blue-gray eyes snapping up in an instant, first in disbelief and then in blatant curiosity. But he’d asked no questions so she’d backed into the bathroom to clean herself up a bit more thoroughly from the previous night’s adventure.

And that had been the extent of Saturday’s excitement.

The rest of the day had been spent in near silence, with James finding idle tasks to do to keep himself occupied while Rhiannon did much the same. They’d eaten and depleted a good portion of her groceries while catering to James’ enormous appetite combined in addition to her own. He’d read some more, finishing the first book and picking out a second. She’d cleaned her own gun and knives. He’d taken out a worn notebook and scribbled on page after page. She’d even watched television for a time, keeping to programs that she believed wouldn’t bother him.

As midnight had approached, she had tried to convince him to sleep in the bedroom, claiming that a night in a soft bed might do him some good. But he had refused, shaking his head and non-verbally communicating that he was fine with staying on the couch, even when they both knew that it was far too small for his large frame. Part of her realized then that he had no intentions of sleeping that night. He might doze off when it became necessary, but he did not want to sleep.

She understood the feeling.

Sunday was very similar to Saturday and passed by in much the same manner. Then the work week was upon them and she was forced to leave him alone in the apartment for eight hours. But he hadn’t run yet and their mornings and nights together were becoming almost habitual. James was still skittish and wary of her and she was still meticulously careful in her treatment of him.

But it was far from perfect harmony.

She’d witnessed him freezing up and looking panicked when there would be an unexpected noise, his hands twitching with the need to arm himself and prepare for a fight. She would calmly draw his attention away, explaining that the noise had just been an animal or a car or even one of her neighbors. Perfectly normal and everyday noises that were no reason for him to worry. She would remind him that he was safe and there wasn’t anyone coming after him at that moment.

Occasionally he would zone out, suffering from what she knew to be dissociative episodes, to such a degree that she would try and speak to him and he would be completely unresponsive. She would sit down nearby, close but not crowding him, and patiently wait for him to emerge from whatever corner of his mind he had sunk into. Ofttimes he would return agitated and shaking, but she would do her best to keep him calm and help him come back to himself.

She wasn’t a therapist or a psychiatrist. She was a soldier, just like him. But she had learned enough from personal experience on how to handle trauma. Both her own and that of others.

She wasn’t perfect, but at least she was trying to help him as best she could.

Rhiannon would speak to him softly. Telling him her name once more and reminding him that his name was James. She would tell him where he was, how he came to be there and that he was safe from HYDRA. It wasn’t foolproof by any means, and sometimes she was forced to repeat the same message four or five times before he came back to himself fully.

She understood well enough that he was ashamed of his fragile mental and emotional state and in the wake of these episodes he would often ignore her for hours afterwards. And that was fine. He didn’t need to acknowledge her or talk to her, but she had been concerned that he was bottling up the feelings and thoughts that he should’ve been letting out. But her worries about that had been calmed somewhat when she had witnessed him writing furiously in his notebook after the second episode when he had thought she wasn’t paying attention.

At least he was expressing himself to someone, even if was an inanimate object.

It was better than nothing.

However, on Wednesday, she had gone to bed for the night and found the tables turned.

James had been woken abruptly from his light doze on the couch, another book lying open across his chest, to a disturbance in the night. He sat up, listening intently – ignoring the constant noise of the city and the faint drumming of a drizzle on the roof – and reached forward to exchange the paperback for the gun he kept within arm’s reach at all times. Something wasn’t right, but the front door and sliding door to the balcony were still locked and the blinds on the windows hadn’t been disturbed.

Another noise had his head snapping in the direction of the wall across from him where the television was mounted, just in time to hear another muffled cry ring out from the bedroom.

A sound of distress.

His heart stopped for a moment and his breath caught in chest as a split second of panic took him.

_Rhiannon._

He found himself standing at the closed door to the bedroom in what seemed like the blink of an eye and without any memory of leaving the couch. He could hear what sounded like a struggle, a soft grunt followed by a murmured babble of unintelligible words. With his gun in one hand, he slowly turned the knob and opened the door, sliding through and leveling his gun at any possible intruder. But the room was empty, beyond the sole occupant of the bed, and he should’ve known that.

There hadn’t been any evidence of an intruder. There hadn’t been any other heartbeats or sounds of breathing beyond that of him and her. So why had he rushed to her side without a second thought?

But he already knew why.

He was beginning to care about her.

Despite all of his efforts to keep his distance he was growing attached to her, just as he had feared he would. He was curious about her and had found himself more than once opening his mouth in an attempt to talk to her. To tell her about himself without fear of her judgement and censure because the notebook wasn’t as effective as method of coping as he had hoped it would be. To ask her the hundreds of questions that had sprung to mind since her blunt admission on Saturday.

This woman with a spine of steel and a heart of gold.

A woman from outer space and the future, apparently.

Sometimes he had found himself asking if she was even human, but quickly disregarded the question because he found himself not caring in the slightest.

And that was wrong.

He knew that he shouldn’t be letting his guard down around her, but found himself doing it again and again. Accepting her help. Eating her food. Reading her books. Enjoying her company even if it was spent in silence or accompanied by the soothing sound of music or even the meaningless drone of the television in the background. He even enjoyed just watching her – without caving into his instincts to see her as nothing more than a potential threat – when she wasn’t paying any attention to him.

The noise of distress interrupted his racing thoughts and he turned to its source, who tossed and turned in her bed. Her mane of hair, which had been far longer than he had initially assumed, was spread across the pillows and her usually beautiful face drawn up into a pained scowl. One of her arms was splayed out across the mattress while the other was tucked in close to her chest. Her long legs, freed from the sheets by kicking, were twitching and bending every so often like she was moving in her dream.

“No,” she whined in her sleep and he found himself moving closer, no matter his need to flee and leave her to what was clearly a nightmare. That desire warred, and was losing quite miserably, with the need to comfort her just as she had comforted him so many times before. “Won’t… Can’t… No… Dad… Fuck you… Lying.”

“Wake up,” he said, hoping to be able to wake her without touching her or being loud enough to spark questions from the neighbors. “Wake up now.”

She did not respond and continued to dream. Her left leg kicked out as a ragged sob, a gasping and choked exhale, escaped her mouth. The fist held to her chest clenched hard enough to turn her knuckles white with blood loss. A full body twitch had her entire body clenching up, curling into a near fetal position, as the rapid movement of her eyes beneath their lids drew his attention.

He didn’t know what to do. Against his better judgement, after switching the safety on and shifting his gun over into his left hand, he reached out and gently shook her nearest knee with his right.

“Rhiannon. Wake up.”

But it had been a mistake to touch her.

A terrible, terrible mistake and he regretted it immediately.

She had launched up from the bed, an unexpected and solid mass of body weight that charged into him, her eyes wide and unseeing and her teeth bared in a vicious snarl. She moved quick and he hadn’t been prepared in the slightest, only just managing to toss his gun away and grab at her with both arms. Her weight was more than he had been expecting – far more than woman of her size should’ve been – and he actually found himself struggling to keep her contained without injury.

She wasn’t in her right mind, blinded as she was by the afterimages of her nightmares, but he was entirely lucid for once and knew that he had to be careful to not hurt her. One wrong move with his arm or exerting too much of his strength when restraining her and she’d end up with broken bones at best. At worst, she’d end up dead and he didn’t know if he could survive living with the knowledge that he’d killed someone he might’ve been staring to consider a friend.

Or maybe more.

He already had Steve’s blood on his hands. He’d shot and stabbed and nearly strangled to death the man he’d loved more than anyone in the world. He didn’t need to have the blood of someone else he cared about on his hands. It would be more than enough to send him over the edge, as if he wasn’t standing on the edge of the cliff every day since starting to recover his identity and his memories.

Oh, yes. He’d remembered Washington. All of it.

From being activated by Alexander Pierce to assassinate the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. all the way until he’d fished the broken and bleeding body of Steven Grant Rogers out of the Potomac and left him for dead on the muddy riverbank.

But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about any of that.

“It’s James,” he said, trying to sound as soothing as she always managed to be for him. “You’re awake. Stop fighting. Please.”

But she wasn’t listening or she couldn’t hear him. She wrenched his head to the side with one of her freed hands and jabbed at the side of his neck with the other. He dropped her, jumping back and coughing from the hit, but bringing his arms up regardless to fend her off while simultaneously trying to snap her out of it with his voice.

“Wake up,” he demanded, still trying to keep his voice down, but knowing that if he didn’t resolve this quickly someone would hear them.

“Shut it, IMC Dog,” she snarled and lashed out with a leg. “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done.”

She was damned good at CQC and her style of hand-to-hand wasn’t something he was familiar with at all, but still he did his level best to counter her at every turn. He blocked her kicks and deflected her punches, once again being caught off guard by how fast and powerful they were. She hit a hell of a lot harder and faster than the Widow did, that was for certain. He sure felt it when she managed to land a kick to one of his knees and a solid punch that knocked the air out of his lungs.

Desperate to end the fight he lunged forward and knocked her to the floor, using his superior size to pin her down, grabbing her arms and pining her wrists together in his metal hand. Her knees surged up into the side of his abdomen, one hit nailing him in the kidney and the other one coming far too close to his groin. He let himself fall on her, pining her down with his own body weight, holding her as carefully – but securely – as he could even as she grunted and strained against him.

“Stop fighting me, Rhia. It’s me. It’s James,” he pleaded, growing more and more desperate to rouse her from her nightmare-induced fugue state. He repeated it again and again until her struggles began to wane. Until, finally, she fell still beneath him and for a few moments the only sounds in the apartment was of their elevated breathing, the soft patter of rain and the muffled sounds of the city.

“Oh God…” Rhiannon whispered in horror, eyes closing at she felt tears welling in the corner of her eyes, as her mind cleared from the red haze of her grief and rage fueled bloodlust. Her heart was beating at a rapid pace, with the familiar and heady sensation of adrenaline coursing through her body, and she was pinned to the carpet under the heavy press of James’ weight.

She had attacked him.

If she’d been armed, even with just a knife, she could have seriously hurt him.

Could’ve killed him.

She’d been dreaming and it had been so vivid. So real. Just like it always was.

She’d been back on Typhon. Back during the initial landing for Broadsword that had gone FUBAR almost from the very beginning. Ships exploding left and right in atmo. Nukes being slung around like children’s toys. Her dropship had been hit hard and as it crashed into a fiery pile of scrap metal she had bailed out and hoped for the best. After waking up, she’d been black and blue and spitting up blood, but Stim and a hastily applied med-patch kept her mobile. She rendezvoused with her partner who’d been lucky enough to land with only a few minor scuffs and scorch marks and then they’d been off.

Flourishing in their prime environment, tearing a bloody swath through their enemies to their objective.

And then over the radio…

“ _Oi, Girly, I see you down there. Mmm. Look at how you kill. You sure you don’t wanna be a Predator, beautiful? You’d be making some damn good money and I’d have something nice to look at.”_

Blisk. Kuben fucking Blisk.

She’d have recognized his fucking voice anywhere.

She’d almost killed the sick fuck on Demeter, but had missed her shot and then gotten nearly blown to pieces and skewered with enough shrapnel to make even the strongest stomach’s queasy.

Rhiannon had been quick to open the comm and nearly shout herself hoarse with threats and insults and every form of vulgar profanity she’d learned across her tenure fighting across the Frontier. Blisk owed her blood. Gallons of it. For the friends and innocents that he’d slaughtered on the IMC’s payroll. And then he’d said eight words that had shattered her world.

“ _Down, love. No need to get so riled up, eh? Just wanted to offer my condolences for your loss. Your poor old Pops just kicked the bucket. And good riddance. One less thorn in my side, yeah?”_

She’d closed the comm faster than anything, pinging her father’s frequency with a desperation born of a violent fear and panic. No, no, no. Not him. He was all she had left.

_“No. I can’t believe it. I won’t. He can’t be dead. He’s too fucking tough for that. Dad, come on, answer me. Answer me! Please! BT? BT, are you there? Where’s Dad? Rome, why won’t he answer? No, no, no. Fuck you, Blisk. You’re lying. You have to be lying. Lying! Dad!”_

And then she’d been pulled from the nightmare, not realizing that it was over and she was back in the waking world, only knowing that an unknown was in her room and he was touching her. For a split second all she had heard was Blisk’s voice echoing in her head. Around and around and around. It was endless! Then that male figure at her bedside– despite his different body type and the wrong color of his hair and eyes and the fact that he had a shining metal arm – was Kuben Blisk and she was going to kill him even if it ended up killing her to do so.

But it hadn’t been Blisk. It had been James and she’d tried to kill him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to – I swear I…”

He had let her up from beneath him, releasing her arms from the firm grasp of his metal limb, not saying anything in response to her babbling pleas for forgiveness. She’d been exhausted from the sudden loss of adrenaline and the surge of strong emotion. Instead he had just gathered her up into his arms and somehow, they had ended up sitting on the carpeted floor with her being cradled in his arms.

“I understand,” he said, his deep voice rumbling in her ear. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t hurt me.”

Rhiannon hadn’t meant to stay there in his arms. It wasn’t right. He was the traumatized one. The one suffering. Her issues were known and an old wound, another one of her innumerable scars. Some of them were very old and others having been there for less than a year, but still he had to be the priority.

And yet, she had relaxed into his embrace, welcoming the almost unnatural warmth of his body and the contrasting cool of his metal arm wrapped around her waist. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been held like this by another human being. Maybe it had been Cooper. Just after Typhon. They’d been fairly close friends after her father had made the decision to mentor him for his certifications.

Sort of like a brother that she’d never known she’d wanted.

But in James’ mismatched arms, even for those few minutes before she slipped back asleep, she’d felt safe. And then she’d woken up in the morning, tucked into her bed like nothing had ever happened.

Thursday morning had been awkward in light of that night’s events, a silent breakfast and an equally silent departure from the apartment when she’d left for work. But the bridge had been mended by that evening when one of her neighbors had suddenly asked her to babysit their dog for the night. A white and tawny Kokoni Mix by the name of Odysseus, nicknamed Oddy, who she had watched three times before and was great company and extremely well behaved for his age.

It had been like watching the sun rise.

James had lit up around the young and energetic dog, almost becoming an entirely new man right before her eyes. He’d be hesitant in those first few minutes, clearly worried that he’d hurt the dog in some way with his arm or his strength. But Oddy had decided that he was having none of that. Somehow that little dog had known, in that mysterious and instinctual animal way, that James needed comfort and had all but leapt into his lap and licked the man’s scruffy face until he’d surrendered to the dog’s whims.

They’d eaten dinner and she’d watched as he’d fed the dog little scraps of meat from his plate. They’d played fetch, or a rendition of fetch meant for the confinement of a small apartment, and tug-of-war with a stuffed snake toy. And after the dog had been played with into near unconsciousness, the three of them had ended up sitting on the couch together, watching a mindless television program.

But Oddy’s influence had only been a temporary balm.

In the morning when he’d returned home to his owners, unaware that the dog had spent the entire night sprawled across the chest of a super-assassin, James had regressed to his pre-canine therapy state.

Silent, brooding and getting lost in his own mind.

It was hard to watch, all that progress undone in less than an hour. But it was still Friday – still a weekday – and she’d had to go to work. But for the entirety of the day all she’d thought about was how nice it had been to see James actually happy. He’d smiled and he’d laughed once or twice, which had Rhiannon vowing internally that she’d do her utmost to bring that version of him back into the light.

Permanently.

She knew trauma didn’t work that way, but she was trying her best to remain optimistic.

For his sake, at least.

But it was time for her to get out of her car before she was late and James got suspicious. Tomorrow was Saturday and she had to pack for the trip north. There was a lot to get done and prepare for and there was an idea she had been mulling on in her spare moments. It was another dumb idea, but it would ensure another level of safety for James from HYDRA.

She would, of course, ask him if he’d like to help her. But for all she knew he would bolt as soon as the tracker was out of his arm. She’d be disappointed, but it was understandable, nonetheless. And even if he did leave, she was still going to do it. It would just take longer. She was invested in his safety and well-being and she wouldn’t stop until she had helped him as much as she possibly could.

After all, what else did she have to do with herself while stranded on a planet not her own?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 done and done. Enjoy! Should expect the next chapter at some point early next week, maybe sooner if inspiration strikes me.


	5. Chapter 5

**0600 HOURS | SEPTEMBER 13, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

At precisely six in the morning, Rhiannon’s phone alarm roused her from sleep. The same time it did every morning on a weekday for work and every other Saturday. Because today was the day. The trip north. And she would’ve been lying if she wasn’t worried about how the day would pan out.

Every other trip had gone flawlessly. A nice and peaceful morning drive followed by an equally pleasant morning hike through pristine Grecian forests and hills. But then again none of the other trips had her bringing along a passenger. She’d play it by ear, but if James started getting antsy, she may end up having to spill all her beans a bit earlier than she had planned to.

As she stepped out into the main room, half living room and half kitchen, she was more than a little surprised to find James sitting at the breakfast bar sipping on a mug of coffee. The pot under the coffee maker was full, except for one mug’s worth, so he must’ve brewed it himself not too long ago.

He’d never done that before.

Every other morning she’d woken to find him on the couch, nearly in the exact same position she’d left him the previous evening, usually either writing, reading or staring off into the middle distance. The change was unsettling, but in a good way, if that made any sort of logical sense.

“You made coffee,” she said, half statement and half question, as she walked by to fetch her own mug from the cabinet. James gave her a hum of affirmation, but was otherwise occupied with his drink and watching her over the rim. With her mug full, doctored to be light and sweet as she always drank it, she leant back against the counter-top and met his stare.

“Today’s the day. You ready?” she asked after a hefty swig of coffee, watching James avidly for any sign that he was unprepared for the day’s events. But he looked no different than usual. The shoulder length brown hair, the scruff of thick stubble, the straight nose and heavy brows with those bright blue-gray eyes underneath. A pale coloring only made that much brighter and more striking by the unfortunately dark circles underneath them.

It was clear that he still hadn’t been sleeping much. He was always awake when she went to bed and he was always awake when she woke up. She made due with six hours most nights, so he was clearly getting far less than that, if any at all.

He took another sip before he gave a resolute nod of his head and she took that as a yes.

“Good. Big day. Gotta eat, shower and finish packing up, so we can be on the road for 0700,” she announced, already running through the route they’d be taking northward and planning for possible detours should anything go awry. “You want anything specific for breakfast?” He only shrugs his broad shoulders, same as always when she asks, because he doesn’t seem to care what she makes. Everything she’d made – what with her being a fairly decent cook – he’s eaten it all without a single complaint and in tremendous serving sizes that were putting her appetite to shame.

“Alright. Well, we’ve still got plenty of eggs, veg, meat and cheese. How ‘bout omelets?”

“Sure,” he says, gulping down the last of his coffee and setting the mug down with a clink against the faux-granite counter-tops, before getting up out of the barstool. “Gunna shower.”

“Okay. You do that and I’ll get this going,” she said, turning her back as he grabbed his backpack up off the floor next to the couch and vanished into the bathroom.

The morning went smoothly from there. Rhiannon cooked in a frenzy and when James had returned from the shower only a few minutes later they ate in hasty silence. Then it was her turn, after the dishes had been washed, to shower and gathered her belongings. She scrubbed down fast, with practiced efficiency born of routine. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shave a little, rinse off and done. She toweled dry and then wiggled into her clothes – underwear, sports bra, socks, jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt – before brushing both her hair and teeth as quickly as she could.

She emerged clean and bustled into her bedroom to lace up her boots and grab her own bag, which she had intelligently taken the time to pack the previous night. After making sure that everything she might need was packed, Rhiannon snagged her data knife and P2016 from the nightstand. The knife was slid into a secondary holster looped into her belt, a more secure place than in her boot, and the gun was tucked into the waistband of her jeans. For now. She’d have to move it somewhere else once they were in the car.

She had no doubts that James was arming himself similarly.

It was in their nature.

And then she was ready to go, grabbing her car keys, phone and wallet before motioning for James to fall in behind her as she opened the door. She locked it behind her and then they were off, both moving quick and quiet to the side stairs, going down and around towards the parking lot. But as they walked, she couldn’t help but notice James’ slight change of wardrobe. It seemed to her that James was actively concerned about being recognized because he had a baseball cap atop his head and wore black gloves on both of his hands.

The gloves she could understand, but was the hat really necessary?

Even as they got into her SUV, he was still acting twitchy, scanning their pre-dawn surroundings from beneath the hat’s brim for any signs of suspicious activity.

“Signal’s still being jammed, by the way. The jammer is in my bag,” she said as she pulled out her gun and set it in the cupholders, feigning a sense of nonchalance, but hoping to calm him down a bit with the information. It seemed to work as his shoulders relaxed and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes as she started the car. “Got no reason to be so on edge. And anyways, I think between the two of us we could handle just about anything, don’t you think?”

He snorted, though Rhiannon was unsure if it was in agreement or not. She had to remind herself that besides the fight on the pier and their scuffle Wednesday night the two of them really didn’t know each other’s full capabilities. But perhaps, if all went well that maybe that would change. She could use a sparring partner of comparable skill. Someone to challenge her and keep her at her best.

God, knows that living the civvie life wasn’t doing her any fucking favors and she didn’t make enough to even try to get a gym membership somewhere. She was barely making enough to pay her rent and keep the both of them fed on a daily basis.

No. The fitness aspect was only an added bonus to all of these secret weekend trips. Everyone she interacted with on a daily basis, mostly her coworkers, thought she was visiting a rural monastery. Seeking enlightenment or some sort of inner peace from a rough and traumatic past. But that was a lie. Well… Mostly. But it provided her with a little less than two days where she could work herself over hard to refresh all of her memories about the hardcore badass that she had been trained to be.

They wound their way through the mostly empty morning streets, Rhiannon offering James control over the radio to keep him occupied, before hitting the northbound highway without any difficulties at all. Her chosen and practiced route avoided any tolls, for obvious reasons, and would take approximately fifty or so minutes going north and then east to reach the town of Sochos and then another forty minutes northward into Dimosio Dasos Flamouriou. It was there, hidden away deep within that maze-like series of sloping hills and dense forest, that their end goal awaited.

But not all things were seamless and perfect.

As the sun rose and the rest of the world woke and got on with their day the vehicle density on the highway grew. A fact which had both Rhiannon and James’ paranoia and tactical awareness kicking into high gear. Nothing thankfully came of it all, but James still kept a persistent eye on their surroundings and the both of them eyed up any car, van or truck that came within twenty meters of their vehicle. And it was in that manner that the first leg of their trip passed by. A tense pseudo-silence, only accompanied by the rumble of the engine, the hum of the radio and the sounds of their own breathing.

At five after eight they rolled into Sochos, which put them right on schedule. As they drove through the town, Rhiannon did her best to remember where a grocery store was. Somewhere small and out of the way, but halfway decent, and most importantly somewhere she hadn’t gone before. She needed some supplies. Would’ve needed to do it anyways, but with James coming and staying for at least the day she would definitely be needing more food. Canned stuff, non-perishables and the like. Things that would keep for a good long while and could be easily stored on site.

“Gotta get more food,” she said as they pulled into park next to a suitable store. “You wanna get out and stretch for a minute?”

“Sure,” he unexpectedly agreed as she wiggled forward in her seat to slide her gun back into her pants. For a few moments she just sat there and looked at him, a raised eyebrow making her question about his current state of mind blatantly obvious. “I’m fine.”

“Alright. If you say so,” she said with a shrug as she got out of the car, snagging a shopping basket before heading into the store with her big and tall shadow tailing at her heels. “If you spot something you want just grab it. I don’t mind.”

Rhiannon strolled through the aisles and perused the shelves with a fine-toothed comb for things that would make a half decent meal that she didn’t already have. Beans, olives, pickles, tomatoes, pasta, peaches, a couple loaves of bread and jarred fruit preserves. As the two walked through the coolers at the back, she was surprised when James stopped at one of them and pulled out a small case of beer at random.

“Oh, hell yeah,” she quietly cheered. “Why didn’t I think of that?” A wide grin broke out of her face until she read the label of the beer he’d selected. “Oh no. Not that kind.” She gestured to another box. “Get that one. The green with the unicorn.”

He huffed, looking amused by her insistence rather than annoyed, but did ask she asked anyways and tucked the correct case under his right arm. From there they made their way to the front counter and Rhiannon gave the cashier – a portly, middle-aged woman – a warm smile in greeting as she set her basket down.

_“Taxidévete?”_ the woman asked, in Greek, as she began to ring the groceries into the register. For some reason, perhaps due to her tanned complexion, most Greeks she met seemed to think she was at least partially one as well. And while Rhiannon was in no way perfectly fluent with the native language, she had learned more than enough in the past months to carry on a decent conversation.

_“Naí. Kámpin'nk me ton fílo mou,”_ she replied, gesturing with her shoulder and turning to give James an affectionate smile, as one would towards their significant other, which he matched with practiced ease.

Dammit, it always took her by surprise to once again realize that he was ridiculously handsome.

But still it came at as a great shock that he had so easily reciprocated and corroborated her lie. Rhiannon had half expected him to look upset or absolutely clueless. But no, he clearly had some knowledge of the language and had understood what she had said perfectly.

Maybe it had been part of his training?

The woman smiled brightly, waving James forward so that she could scan the barcode on the case of beer, before totaling up their purchase. Rhiannon handed over the necessary cash without a fuss and as she leaned slightly forward to receive the change the older woman gave her a devious smile, flickering eyes back towards the man standing behind her.

“ _Tycheró korítsi,”_ she murmured secretively from behind that too wide grin. _“Eínai polý ómorfos.”_

Rhiannon’s cheeks flushed hotly, but it wasn’t like she could deny the woman’s accurate assessment. Finding herself unable to formulate a proper reply, she reached out to collect their bags of groceries before being interrupted by an outstretched arm, which grabbed one of the bags, and a voice that was becoming rather familiar to her.

_“Óchi. Eímai o tycherós,”_ James said, giving the cashier woman a smaller smile of his own. They left shortly thereafter, heartfelt well wishes for a nice weekend coming from behind them, and made their way back to the SUV. Opening the trunk, they deposited the grocery bags and Rhiannon couldn’t help but turn to give James an incredulous look.

“What the hell was that about?”

“Only dishing it back, doll,” he shot back, a huff of breath escaping him as he slammed the trunk closed and they moved back to slide into the front seats and situated themselves once more. But apparently, he wasn’t done talking quite yet as she backed up and pulled out into the early morning traffic. “But really? Camping with your boyfriend? That was the best you could come up with?”

“Yes, that was the best I could come up with,” she barked as she followed the signs for the road leading straight north. “The weather is still warm so camping isn’t out of the question. We look nothing alike so we couldn’t be related and there aren’t any rings on our fingers so we can’t be married. Why? You got a problem with being my fake boyfriend for less than a minute?”

He didn’t seem to have a response to that, turning his head away and looking out the window instead, and an awkward silence followed. Within a couple of minutes, they were out of the town and on the winding road that would bring them into the forested depths of Dimosio Dasos Flamouriou. Shoving her irrational irritation with James’ peculiar behavior away, she focused on the events of the near future.

“Got about half an hour on this road before we turn off and head west for another twenty,” she began, outlining their route. “Lots of side roads to navigate to get to the place where we’ve gotta stash the car. From there it’s about another forty minutes or so by foot to where we’re headed.”

“Pretty remote,” he said. “Where exactly are we headed to meet with this friend of yours?”

“You’re fuckin’ chatty today, aren’t you?”

He seemed unimpressed with her reply.

“Fine, fine.” She took a deep breath and figured that now was as good a time as any to give a brief overview of her general situation. “Yeah… So, about eight months ago my partner and I were sent out on an op. Normal shit for us. Covert infil, data retrieval, force elimination, etcetera. We hit our target, like we were supposed to, got almost everything squared away but then a bump in the road came up. Bad guys had unearthed a bit of foreign tech. HQ decided we had to take it too, so we did. But our exfil ended up turning real bad real quick and before we could do anything – boom – we’re crash landing in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere. So, that’s where we’re going. The crash site.”

She gave him a few moments to digest.

“But you’re from the future? And outer space?” he asked, seeming to be trying his best to put together the mangled mess of puzzle pieces she’d given him so far. A moment of pause before he leans forward slightly and blurts out, “Are you an alien?”

Rhiannon barked out a sharp laugh, almost losing herself in a fit of laughter, but restraining herself to snickering under her breath from the driver’s side. Oh, that was too funny! Of all the questions he could’ve asked it had to be that one.

“No,” she said, her ire from before washed away with her sudden good humor. “Definitely not an alien. I’m just as human as you are, James. It’s the future, remember? Humanity branches out from Earth and establishes hundreds of colony worlds across of the Core and then even further out into the Frontier. I was born out there. On one the Frontier planets… Harmony.”

She reminisces fondly of home, a planet she hadn’t seen in nearly a year now, while James settled back into the passenger seat and sinks into his own thoughts. Several minutes pass by in a heavy silence, no longer awkward, but still weighed down with the unusual subject matter of their conversation.

“And your partner?” he asks once the silence had lingered too long.

“Eh, well… He’s not so human,” she hedges before deciding to just jump right in and hope for the best. “He’s a robot, actually. A Titan. Nearly seven meters and forty tons of bipedal heavy weapons platform. Like the two-legged lovechild of an MBT and a super-computer.”

Hitting a smooth section between all of the road’s twists and turns, Rhiannon chanced a glance over at her passenger to gauge his reaction to her admission. He seemed to be taking it well enough, as in he wasn’t looking at her in outright disbelief or reverted back to that cold, hard mask from those first couple of days. It was more of a bit of latent surprise that was rapidly fading into something more like acceptance, perhaps even a bit of an eager sparkle in those steely blue-grays of his.

“But you’ll be meeting him soon enough. He stays with the dropship, for obvious reasons.”

James hummed in response and the rest of their drive was spent in a peaceful lull of conversation. It was just in time too as Rhiannon was forced to pay far greater attention to the roads and scenery around them. She may have been made this trip a dozen and a half times or so, but if she took one wrong turn then it’d be a nightmare to get back on the right track again. She spotted her turn off from the main road, transitioning from north to heading westbound.

They drove onwards, all alone on the roads without any other vehicle anywhere in their vicinity. Just as planned, after taking two rights and one particularly sharp left, Rhiannon pulled off of the road when the road came to an abrupt dead end. There was a perfectly sized hiding spot nestled just beyond a dense patch of thicket which was exactly where she planned to park her SUV. And so, she did.

The two got out, gathering their bags from the backseats before meeting at the trunk.

“Here,” she said, beginning to transfer over the groceries into a larger duffle bag, but pointing out a camouflage tarpaulin and a canvas bag full of bungee cords to James. “Take that, please. Start pulling it over the car and tie down the edges nice and tight.” He did so, and after the food was packed, she went and helped to spread it over the SUV and hook the bungees between the eyelets and the undercarriage.

She’d lost one tarp already to sudden and unexpected Grecian weather changes. But she’d gotten lucky so far this time. The ground was dry and hardpacked from infrequent rain so that any tire tracks they may have left were all but invisible and the forecast for the weekend was also promising. No serious storms and comfortably warm temperatures for both days.

After buckling the chest straps on her backpack – listening in as James did likewise – Rhiannon hefted the duffle’s thick straps over her shoulder. It would be an awkward hike with this much gear, far more than her usual kit for the trip, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. She was used to traveling light. But maybe she’d get lucky and James would pony up and take the bag for a spell when she got sick of it?

“You green?” she asked, looking between him and the lush vegetation around them and listening to the natural ambiance. The temperate breeze rustling the branches and leaves. The songbirds chirping and small mammals scuttling about their business in the brush.

“Yeah,” he said, looking and listening to everything just as she was. “Good to go.”

“Alright. Let’s hoof it.”

They made quick tracks into the forest, following the paths carved by the wildlife for a short time before breaking off to head north-west on a more direct route. At times, Rhiannon could barely even hear James walking behind her – even with her aural implants – his footsteps so precisely placed and light-footed that not even twigs broke under them. She could be that quiet if she put conscious effort into it, but the fact that he could be that silent without any conscious effort…

Damn, she might even be a little bit jealous.

Nearly forty minutes into the hike, just past nine-forty and right on time with her travel schedule, they were making their way up the last hill between them and the crash site. It was a steep gradient and a fair bit of exercise for her legs, but once they crested the hill there would be ample evidence of the crash landing. She’d controlled it as best she could at the time, but they’d still smashed countless trees and dug a nice and deep trench into the soil. At the top of the hill she came to a stop, James doing the same on her right, and looked down into the narrow valley.

“Nice crash,” he commented wryly, surveying the damage first hand in the mid-morning sun.

And from their perch they could see it all.

A thirty-meter-wide swath of forest had been violently knocked down and extended from east to west for a good two hundred meters. And at the end of the trench, more than two thirds buried beneath a pile of dirt and debris, was the dropship. A beast of a thing and one of the first of her kind. They had left it buried for good measure – if fact she and her partner had even piled on more debris – so as to hide it from prying eyes. The only part that was uncovered was the ass-end and the cargo door to the lower deck. But by some miracle, the crash hadn’t actually caused too much damage to the ship itself. Most of it was only cosmetic or to non-essential systems that she did not have the resources to fix.

She hummed in sad agreement. “Yeah. Not my best work, I’ll admit. But it could’ve been much, much worse,” she admitted, shifting to turn and face him head-on. “You still good?” If he wasn’t ready, they could spend a bit of time up here on the hill. It was a good spot with a nice view, provided you didn’t look down into the valley. They could sit and take a break. Get a drink and have a snack. Give him the chance to get his head back on straight.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured and she squinted her eyes at him slightly, trying to gauge if he was telling her the truth or just paying lip service. He looked no different than usual, still with those bright eyes and that strong stubbled jawline, only perhaps a bit shiny from natural occurring perspiration brought about by the hike. But his eyes seemed far lighter, not in coloring but in weight, than previous days.

Except for perhaps those few hours where he had had a lap full of squirming, joyous canine.

Taking him at his word, Rhiannon shifted the duffle on her shoulder to settle it back into place before beginning to pick her way down the slope with James following in her wake. The ground was slightly unstable beneath their booted feet, the dirt and gravel loose and shifting under their weight, but they made good time down. Soon enough they were jumping over the lip of the trench, a three-meter drop that they both made with practiced ease. Her seasoned legs were used to further drops than that, even without her jump kit, and his enhancements definitely made him at least as tough as she was.

The cargo door to the lower deck was right there, less than a stone’s throw away, and she found herself nearly jittery for the introduction that was about to take place. If anything, it was sure to be interesting.

As if on cue the door groaned open with the standard sound of hydraulic decompression and there he was. Her mechanized partner. Her digital best friend. Her neurally linked brother. Her bouncing baby boy, who just so happened to regularly carry enough ordinance to level a small city. Her Titan.

“Honey, I’m home!” Rhiannon sang merrily as she skipped forward, all but forgetting the weight of the two bags on her back and the mentally-unstable super-assassin she had left in her dust. Two weeks always ended up feeling like too long for her to be separated from him, but reality was a bitch. She had needed money to survive and therefore had to go and mingle with the public. Every day posed a very real danger. Every time she stepped out her door, she ran the risk of the truth somehow being discovered for what and who she really way. She would’ve much rathered live like a little hermit lady in the woods, but that just wasn’t going to work in the real world.

Girl’s gotta eat, after all.

“Pilot Lastimosa, you are sixteen minutes and twenty-four seconds over your average arrival time,” the lumbering giant admonishes, about as disapproving and disappointed sounding as an incredibly deep and masculine, emotionless robotic voice could possibly sound. “You are late.”

“Oh! Come on, Rome!” Rhiannon whined in false protest. “I had to go grocery shopping. The ten minutes I spent at the store shouldn’t count. And don’t be like that in front of our guest. It’s rude.”

“Apologies,” he grumbled, but sounded far from apologetic. She ignored it, promising a bit of minor retribution somewhere down the line, in favor of doing her best to facilitating proper introductions between her Titan and James.

“Fine, fine. Now introduce yourself.” She waved a hand at their guest and waited with bated breath.

James Buchanan Barnes would never admit – even to himself – that he froze a little under this newfound scrutiny. But he supposed it was a mostly understandable reaction after being pinned down beneath the singular, glowing blue, digital eyeball of a giant robot. A giant robot that probably could turn him into a smear of red on the ground in a fraction of a second. Far faster than even he could possibly react to. But the remnants of his retained humanity – that tiny shred of who he might’ve once been and who he might’ve slowly been becoming once again – was utterly enthralled.

Unnerved and a bit terrified, as well. But mostly enthralled.

He could remember always acing his numbers and science tests in school and HYDRA hadn’t really been slouches when they’d taken the time to educate their premier weapon. James knew he was a fairly intelligent person. You had to be to calculate sniping trajectories from obscene distances while adding in wind resistance, bullet curve and a host of other possible factors.

He was a smart cookie, as he might’ve once claimed, and he liked science quite a bit. Loved it, actually. It was more than half of the reason he’d dragged Stevie and those two nameless dames to that fancy Expo on a date. And yes, he’d remembered that too.

He’d remember a lot of things in those quiet hours he’d been left alone in the apartment.

But now wasn’t the time to be losing himself in his memories. In this moment, he just wanted to focus on the here and now. To focus all of his attention only on the present. On the benevolent and beautiful woman, who had lit up with radiant joy as soon as that cargo door had lowered itself, and on the mechanical marvel that was standing less than thirty feet away from him.

Somewhere between twenty and twenty-two feet, he hazarded, which was accurate with Rhiannon’s claims of it being nearly seven meters tall. Surprisingly agile-looking and articulate limbs, two legs and two arms, attached to a mostly rectangular central chassis. Every inch of the Titan that wasn’t meant for movement was covered in thick armor plating. The primary coloring of the armor was a dark and verdant green, what the general public might qualify as hunter green, while the accent colors were a rich goldenrod yellow, a pristine white that wasn’t quite so pristine any longer and a brown so dark that just as easily could have been black. Even scattered all over the main body were logos, decals, numbers and letters that clearly had some level of importance.

Identification or decoration?

“I am RA-5172,” the robot said, looking down at him with that singular eye that flashed in time with its voice. “A Vanguard-class Titan of the Frontier Militia’s Special Recon Squadron. Marauder Corps.”

He opened his mouth, preparing himself to introduce himself to his very first robot, but before he could even speak one word it stepped even closer and slid into a crouch with the hissing of hydraulics. And then the Titan spoke once more, toneless and in such a deeply masculine voice, making such a blunt announcement of facts that he didn’t think it should’ve known. Facts that had his body locking up and his mind racing, the familiar sensation of a panic attack creeping up his spine.

“Introduction unnecessary. Facial recognition and genetic scan complete. Identity confirmed. You are James Buchanan Barnes. Born March 10th, 1917. Former Sergeant in the United States Army’s 107th Infantry Regiment. Former member of the special combat unit known as the Howling Commandos under the purview of the Scientific Strategic Reserve. Currently associated with the terrorist organization, HYDRA, and operating under the call-sign Winter Soldier. Officially declared wanted by dozens of national governments on multiple counts of homicide and a possible conviction of war crimes.”

His ears were ringing. Like the deafening drone after a close-range flashbang.

It knew who he was. He should’ve known that a super-computer from the future would’ve been able to find out who he had been and who he had become. And now Rhiannon knew too. She would hate him. She would judge him, see all of the blood on his hands, and toss him to the wolves. Any second now she would let loose. Maybe, if he was lucky, she’d just shoot him herself, then and there. Or even choose to set her Titan on him.

At least it would be a quick death. She didn’t seem the type to draw it out. She wasn’t cruel.

She wasn’t a murderer like him.

In that moment, which could’ve possibly lasted seconds or even minutes, James spent all of it lost in his head while his body was thrumming with a sudden surge of adrenaline. The powerful fight or flight instinct rising up to the forefront of his physiological responses and warring against itself.

Rhiannon knew the moment James had taken a turn for the worst. His eyes had gone wide and the blood had drained from his face, leaving him with an almost sickly pallor underneath his baseball cap. She swore, loudly, and dropped the duffle bag at Rome’s feet – giving her Titan a swift kick in the leg for good measure – before trying to figure out how to work damage control. Every other time James had lost himself like this it had been in the safety of the apartment, a small space where she could keep the situation contained. But out here in the open, if he made a break for it, she wasn’t certain she could match him without her kit.

And letting him run off in this state was dangerous. To others and himself.

And so, like approaching a frightened animal, she moved slowly and spoke softly, even if she was nearly one hundred percent positive that he couldn’t hear her right then. With her first step into his line of sight his eyes locked onto her, startled and flickering between panic and a chilling sort of blankness. With her hands coming up, empty and open-palmed like they had been on the pier, she began to try and talk him down.

“Easy, James,” she assured. “I know it was tough to hear all that, but we don’t care what you’ve done. Everything you did for HYDRA was under duress and not of your own volition. I know that and deep down I know that you know that too. I just need you to calm down and breathe. You don’t need to run. We’re not going to attack you. I promise.”

Of all the ways she had hoped this trip would’ve gone, this was not it. But optimism only gets you so far, after all. Though if she was going to be entirely honest, in a way she was a little glad to have more intel about her guest. She’d be operating with less than stellar amounts of information. Only knowing his first name, his enhanced status and the general knowledge about big, bad HYDRA and the fact that he had been under their control?

Yeah, definitely way less info than she normally would have been comfortable with. But she had seen something in him. Something that she could not have ignore for the life of her.

After three repetitions of her hopefully soothing message, assurances of his safety and their lack of care for the crimes he had committed, she had closed the gap and James seemed to be calming. It would’ve been poor manners and hypocritical to judge him for his uncontrollable past. In the eyes of trillions, she was nothing but a bloodthirsty, murderous terrorist. A deranged and uncontrollable animal that wanted nothing more than to kill every citizen of the Core Worlds.

And that just wasn’t true at all.

She just wanted freedom for her people. And slowly but surely, she was beginning to see James as one of her own. Maybe even a friend. But either way, he was someone she felt duty-bound to help.

In a fit of momentary insanity, Rhiannon reached out and lay her palms ever so gently on James’ tense shoulders. She could feel the disparity between warm, smooth human skin and the rough line of scar tissue where the prosthetic must’ve been attached to his body. She squeezed ever so slightly – a comforting gesture, she hoped – and looked up beneath the shadowed brim of his hat.

“I’ve told you – I’ve promised you, again and again, that you are safe with me,” she said, staring him down unflinchingly, gray-green versus blue-gray, and trying her best to drill this simple fact into his thick skull. The time for gentleness had passed. Now it was time for a bit of tough-love. “So, you pull yourself out of that pit of doubt, fear and panic inside your head, James Barnes, and get back on your fucking feet. HYDRA isn’t getting you back. Ever. Not on my watch. So, we’re gunna go into the ship and I’m going to get that tracker out of your damn arm. And then – if you want to take back some control over your life – you and me and Rome are going to hunt down the bastards that fucked you over for decades. We’re gunna hunt ‘em down, we’re gunna kill ‘em, we’re going to burn their whole entire organization down to the ground and we’re going to destroy anything that would ever allow them or anyone else to control you again.”

Rhiannon finished her impromptu speech, her voice having gotten far louder than she had meant it to get, and nearly panting for breath in response to her sudden bout of fervor.

She did not expect to be roughly pulled into a nearly bone-crushing embrace.

Wrapped up in contrasting arms of overly warm flesh and cold, unbending metal, only muted in sensation by the clothes that they both wore. His head canted down and buried into the meat of her shoulder with deep shuddering gasps for air puffing against the exposed skin of her neck. And she instinctually returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his middle and squeezing as tight as she could.

She wouldn’t give up on him and she wouldn’t allow him to give up on himself either.

He deserved his freedom just as much as anyone else did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greek Translations & Abbreviation Explanations:  
> Taxidévete? = Taking a trip?  
> Naí. Kámpin'nk me ton fílo mou. = Yes. Camping with my boyfriend.  
> Tycheró korítsi. Eínai polý ómorfos. = Lucky girl. He is very good-looking.  
> Óchi. Eímai o tycherós. = No. I am the lucky one.  
> MBT = Abbreviation / Acronym for Main Battle Tank
> 
> Struggled with this chapter more than I thought I would've, but I think it ended on a very strong note and I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that. So, Lastimosa and her Titan, RA-5172 (Romeo-Alpha-5172 aka Rome) are reunited (on screen) at last. And just so some of you readers can get an accurate visualization of my pilot and her Titan I'm going to give you some IRL references for good measure. Rome basically looks like BT, but several shades darker in coloring, with a whole lot of decals and logos painted on his chassis and has a voice that is a cross between the Titanfall 1 operation system voice S.I.D. and the Titanfall 2 voice for Legion-class Titans (which is my main, btw). Now Rhiannon I like to imagine as the badass hybrid of Charlize Theron (Atomic Blonde) and Michelle Rodriguez (Fast & Furious), but obviously with a bit of that bizarre Australian accent that Tai has. 
> 
> Next chapter soon to come, probably by the weekend if I keep up with this momentum. Bit of a time skip, but we're jumping right into some meaty action.


	6. Chapter 6

**0007 HOURS | NOVEMBER 09, 2014 | BELASICA MOUNTAIN RANGE, BULGARIA-GREECE BORDER**

A pair of guards patrolling the top of the eastern tower were caught entirely unawares.

They did not see the two shadows, indistinguishable from the rocks in the dark of the night, prowling down from the mountain side. They did not anticipate gloved hands being clamped over their mouths and dying soon after with knives buried deep into the back of their skulls. The bodies, simultaneously silenced, were caught before they could fall and make any sort of noise that might alert others.

The bodies were lowered onto the flat roof without a single disturbance of sound except for the faintest rustle of shifting cloth, barely even audible over the whistling mountain wind. The killers crouch-walked up to the edge of the tower and went prone at the drop to look out and below. The two had recced the facility and memorized the layout based on their gathered intelligence, both visual and digital, but there was a whole lot of difference between staring at a schematic and looking at the real thing.

The installation was by no means the largest or most fortified, but that did not mean that it wouldn’t be a significant challenge for only two – technically three – high-level operators.

It had an asymmetrical layout, built upon the bones of an ancient medieval fortress with layers and layer of modern concrete and steel rebar piled on top of it all. The outer walls were nearly a meter thick. There were three towers, built with peculiar angles and differing heights, that overlooked the exterior approach and the interior compound. And within the walls, to continue with the mismatched design of the base, were two equally disproportionate buildings. One quite large, near ten stories tall, while the other was only half as big.

Through the center of the base there was a road, which outside of the walls was nothing more than a rough gravel track, that split in two and led to two different destinations. The first of these was a garage for motor vehicles, hollowed out beneath an outcropping of stone, while the second branch of the road led up to a pair of heavy, sliding metal blast doors. Beyond those doors there was a series of elevators, two meant for a heavy cargo and vehicles and the other four were meant for personnel.

Those elevators then descended down to a secondary installation built within the mountain itself, which was not much larger than a moderately sized office building. But it was within that place that the true, beating heart of the installation lay. A series of high-security vaults and classified laboratories where HYDRA’s ongoing projects were conducted and contained. From that point the elevators descended even further down the mountain to a moderately sized hangar and a short strip of tarmac from which aircraft could land and takeoff.

In total the base couldn’t have contained much more than a few hundred personnel. Though perhaps, at the height of their power, the facility could have housed nearly a thousand with a full complement. But HYDRA was a steadily sinking ship and they were now far away from their golden years.

One of the attackers, the larger of the two, shifted on his belly into a more comfortable position as he set his DMR in front of him and peered through the magnified scope. Barely an inch of his skin could be seen beneath his tactical gear, which was a heavy assembly of black, gray and mossy green material, bullet-resistant and liberally covered with ammo pouches, knife holsters and a bandolier of grenades. His ensemble was finished off with a black beanie on his head, a pair of goggles over his eyes – capable of switching to both thermal and night-vision – and a scarf of black and gray covering the lower half of his face.

The second of the team, a slimmer and undeniably feminine figure, slid into a crouch and slunk to the far side of the tower to get a better angle from a different vantage.

She, in contrast to her partner, wore tactical gear that looked to have been pulled right out of science-fiction. A matte black jumpsuit, layered over with a hunter green harness and thin plates of charcoal gray, bullet-resistant armoring covering her chest, shoulders, forearms and shins. She also had many pouches for ammunition and sheathes for her four of knives scattered across her person, but not nearly as many as her companion. Though, the two greatest differences between them were found at the small of her back, where a compact jetpack ran hot and silent, and atop her head, where a helmet encased the entirely of her skull and the vaguely X-shaped visor was aglow with muted blue light.

“Prowler 1-1 to Prowler 1-3. Status?” Rhiannon requested, broadcasting across the encrypted comm channel that had been set up between their rather unorthodox three-man fireteam.

“Prowler 1-3 is in position. One kilometer from the hangar. No signs of detection by the facility’s sensor grid and marginal access into their data network,” RA-5172, her Titan, confirmed and she let out a brief exhale of relief at the news.

Getting a seven-meter mechanical monstrosity like a Titan so close to an installation like this, without being spotted by radar or LADAR or any other sort of scan, had been arguably one of the more difficult aspects of the mission. But so far everything was going according to their plan. And oh, it felt so nice to be back in action. To feel the comforting weight of her armor and jump kit. To feel the familiar shape of a known firearm, a C.A.R. Submachine Gun, in her practiced hands.

Her attention shifted over towards her other partner, even as her eyes and the tech in her helmet continued to study the ins and outs of the HYDRA base and those few personnel that were patrolling on the perimeter and other towers. “Prowler 1-2, how’re the ears holding up?”

“So far, so good,” Barnes murmured back, unfortunately having to keep his voice down due to a distinct lack of noise-cancelling helmet. “Can’t hear anything but you and Rome.”

“Received. If that changes you let me know and we’ll adjust. We don’t know if any of these guys know your magic words, so you make sure to keep them in at all times.”

“Affirmative.”

It had taken a good two months to get up to this point.

A month of that had been spent just trying to find the place, because HYDRA – as much as she might hate to admit it – knew how to keep themselves under the radar quite well. Not even a blip on any of Rome or the dropship’s passive scans, which was as much as they could do without risking their own discovery. But a chance dive into the water off the Port – on a hunch of all things – had her uncovering some surviving technology from the HYDRA Reclamation Team buried underneath the silt and sand.

A tablet, to be exact. The exact one that had been monitoring the tracking device’s signal.

It had been an incredibly lucky break in their search.

A bit a repair and some reverse engineering and she had gotten a nice digital map to their top-secret hidey-hole in the Belasica Mountains, nestled cozily on the border between Bulgaria and Greece. The next weekend trip after had Rhiannon and James, who now preferred to be called Barnes in most cases, performing a lovely bit of reconnaissance. And now, two weeks later, had them enacting their plan.

The first of who knows how many HYDRA bases they hoped to destroy to secure Barnes’ safety.

Sliding a pulse blade, shaped very much like a Japanese kunai, from one of the ammo pouches at her waist, Rhiannon stabbed the concrete beneath her feet with the point. A wave of orange energy, a sonar pulse, moved outwards from the impact point and highlighted those nearby with a faint outline on her HUD. After the pulse had run its course the total number ended up at nearly a dozen or so hostiles spread out through the uppermost levels of the tower, within twenty meters, and most were in stationary positions and nowhere near the south-side windows.

They were probably all sleeping.

How perfect.

“1-1, clear to advance on Bravo,” Barnes whispered over the radio and Rhiannon snapped her head up. Fixing her eyes on the stretch of wall that curved between Tower Three, designated as Alpha, and Tower Two, labeled as the aforementioned Bravo. The far tower was assigned Charlie, while the larger building was Delta and the smaller was Echo. The vehicle garage was Foxtrot, the elevators were Golf and the air field on the other side of the mountains was Hotel.

And true to Barnes’ word, the way was clear and she was free to move.

Clearing the perimeter guards was their first step. Hitting Bravo and Charlie one after the other. Getting inside Delta was after that, in search of the secondary data center, where she’d be extracting any and all information she could before moving on to the external power generators found in the basement level. Building Echo was to be avoided at all cost for the time being because it was the living quarters for all of those who lived in the base. Better to not immediately go and poke the hornet’s nest, right?

They’d end up getting there eventually, but for now… Stealth was key.

“Received. Take Charlie. Moving now,” she bid, as an uncontrollably wide grin broke out across her face as she activated her cloak and, with a healthy running start, leapt off of the rooftop.

Tower Three – Alpha – was just over twenty stories and the sudden pull of gravity was an exhilarating rush for her. Two perfectly timed bursts of thrust from her jump kit had her jump extending to cover most of the distance between the towers, nearly a hundred meters, before she shot out her grapple at the nearing wall of concrete. With another quick firing of her jump kit and the faintest whine of the line retracting rapidly, Rhiannon shot back up into the air at well over fifty kilometers per second, swinging up and around onto Tower Two’s roof with preternatural grace.

The whistle of the wind through the mountains had made her approach nearly silent, as she landed with a muted thump on her toes, and dashed quickly forward the assassinate the nearest guard. Another team of two to mirror the first pair, a standard guard posting. The first died beneath the blade of one of her knives and the second got his neck snapped with a sickening crunch of vertebrae. Just in time too, as her cloaking tech – limited to only eighteen seconds of total invisibility – flickered and faded away.

“Bravo clear,” she called out as the last man fell, taking a knee to keep her profile low to the ground.

“Charlie clear,” Barnes reported, having sniped them from his nest with his suppressed DMR.

“Good. By the way,” she said, struck but a mild curiosity. “How’re you liking the Longbow?”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Getting the job done.”

“Just okay?” she asked, always knowing the designated marksman rifle to be a remarkably good long-range rifle for anti-personnel operations. But then she remembered how he’d hovered in front of one of the lockers while perusing the dropship’s armory while putting together their loadouts. “I mean, of course, it’s not nearly so as lovely as the Kraber I saw you making eyes at earlier,” she cooed teasingly and got a heavy sigh of exasperation over the comm as her only reply.

Who would’ve guessed that Barnes had a thing for high-powered, armor-piercing sniper rifles?

But the moment for light-hearted teasing had passed and it was time to continue with the mission.

“Perimeter is clear. 1-1 moving on Delta,” she announced, settling back into work-mode, and prepared to make the jump from the tower. She checked below her with the pulse blade and found the tower under her feet to be lightly-staffed, just like Tower One had been. She retrieved a second blade, while the first was recharging, and with precise aim pitched it with all her strength into the nearby building. The blade lodged itself into the concrete without any trouble and the orange sonar ping bloomed out on her heads-up display and showed her the interior.

The top three floors were miraculously empty, at least on the southern side. However, the secondary data center was on the fourth floor and it was quite occupied according to the ping. At least half a dozen on that floor and a dozen, possibly more, spread throughout the other six floors of the building.

“Eighteen hostiles marked inside Delta. Possibly more outside of sonar range. Moving in,” And then she sprinted to the edge, activating her cloak once more, and made the jump. Between her kit and grapple she cleared the gap without trouble, landing on Delta with nary a sound. She quickly made her way over to the rooftop door that would let her inside and found it unlocked.

“Sloppy,” she murmured, pulling the door open the bare minimum needed to slip inside, before closing it behind her. With her data knife in one hand and her P2016 in the other she prowled down through the empty floors, advancing in time with her cloak’s cooldown rate so as to remain undetected by any surveillance cameras.

On the seventh floor she met her first enemy all by his lonesome, seated at a desk and fiddling with his cell phone. He died quickly and she lowered his body to the floor to keep it out of view.

The sixth floor had three occupants and she killed them one after the other without being seen. The fifth floor had two more and they died as well and just as silently. And then she was at her first objective. She threw a pulse blade and watched as the ping revealed the inhabitants of the room. Five personnel were in the outer room with the secondary data center located just beyond, behind a locked door with another two people inside the center itself.

“1-1 to 1-2. Approaching first Delta target. Seven tangos inside. How’s it looking outside?”

“Perimeter’s still quiet. No signs of detection. Clear to engage,” Barnes replied and she continued to be glad that everything was moving as smoothly as it was.

That could easily change in the next few seconds.

“Copy. Engaging,” she said back and as she activated her cloak she swung into the room.

Three pulls of the trigger, muffled by the suppressor at the end of her pistol, had three bodies dropping where they stood. The fourth took one of her boots to his chest, accelerated to beyond lethal levels by her Pilot augmentations and a brief boost from her jump kit. And the fifth died as she swung outwards with her data knife and slashed his neck open. He fell, gurgling and choking on his own blood, as she advanced on the locked door between her and the prize.

Inside the secondary data center, the two remaining personnel – one man and a woman – looked to have been momentarily frozen in shock, before surging to their feet and scrambling around. Whether it was for weapons of their own or the magic button that would set off all the alarms, she couldn’t allow them to succeed with either. She sprinted forward, making less than four full strides, before she rammed into the door with her shoulder and smashed it off its hinges.

Pop. Pop. Two shots from her pistol and the last two were down for the count.

“1-1 to 1-2,” she called out over the radio, tossing a pulse blade at the floor to see who she might’ve alerted and if she should be expecting guests anytime soon. “Data Center is secure. Had to get a bit loud so it might be getting busy out there.” And true enough the occupants of the floors below her were on the move, but not terribly quickly. Odd. Maybe the walls were thicker than she had assumed them to be.

“No external movement yet,” he said just as a radio in the outer room, dropped by one of those she had killed, began to squawk in what she assumed was most likely Bulgarian. She didn’t know the language so it wasn’t like she could reply and try to fool those on the other end that everything was fine.

“Moving to data retrieval,” she announced as she holstered her Hammond P2016. With her data knife back in hand and cleaned of blood, she keyed the switch embedded into the handle to deploy the circuitry that allowed it to hack and moved towards the wall stacked high with computers. She inserted her knife into a suitably sized port and activated the hacking program.

One, two, three and four seconds passed as the holographic display stop her knife scrolled through innumerable combinations of numbers and letters to bypass any and all security that HYDRA might’ve had around their intel. And then, boom, they were in. She pulled her knife back out and tucked it away, now just having to remain within a certain distance of the computer with her helmet.

“1-1 to 1-3. Secondary server had been hacked. Data’s all yours, Rome.”

“Affirmative. Accessing feed. Connected. Downloading all contents,” the Titan replied, using his personal connection with the hardware in her helmet to siphon the data for storage in his CPU.

For the next handful of seconds, with her eyes flickering between the status bar on the download and the motion sensor in the upper left-hand corner of her HUD, Rhiannon stood at the ready. There were six hostiles moving in on her position, but she still had some time to spare. She shifted to the far side of the room, out of sight crouched down in a corner, and hoping to bottleneck them at the entrance. Her C.A.R. came up, thirty-six rounds set in the mag with the safety off and the firing mode switched over into fully automatic, as she divided her attention between the three simultaneous tasks.

“1-2 to 1-1,” Barnes suddenly announced over the radio. “Got movement.”

Here we go. Things were about to get spicy.

“Where?” she demanded.

“Perimeter wall between Bravo and Charlie. Two coming up and over. Splitting up. One to Charlie and the second to Bravo.”

“Guards?”

“Negative.” A brief paused, followed by a sudden inhale of breath. A gasp. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“Steve’s here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Captain fucking America and the Avengers are here,” he hissed over the radio, any amount of Zen calmness he had derived from the combat situation was seemingly gone in the face of the new arrivals. “The two that came over the wall. I recognized one. Romanoff. The Black Widow. If she’s here then he can’t be far behind. Not for a base of this size.”

Oh. Well, that was quite a bit spicier than she had been planning on.

Like ass-on-fire levels of spiciness.

“Do you want to abort and exfil?” she hesitantly suggested. “Go back and wait at the rendezvous point for Rome and I to finish up solo? Because we can do that if you don’t think you’re ready.”

Silence rang out over the line for a few moments.

In the sudden onset of quiet she could hear the rushed footsteps and the whispered orders being given amongst those who were about to attack her. They thought they were being quiet, but she could hear them plain as day and could see their little, blurry orange dots on her motion tracker. A bloom of orange sonar from a pulse blade revealed their positions through the wall, in a standard stacked formation, and she sighted down her HCOG with her index finger resting just slightly above the trigger.

“Make up your mind fast, Barnes, ‘cause it’s about to get very loud at Delta.”

Another moment, before a gusty exhale came over the channel. “I’ll stay. Figured I was gunna run into him eventually, just didn’t think it was going to be today. Don’t know how I’ll react when I do see him, but I’ve gotta do this and I’m not cowardly enough to leave you and Rome cleaning up my mess.”

“Received,” she said, surprised that he had actually chosen to stick around. Every time he’d spoke of Steve Rogers before – the famed Captain America – he’d been so guilt-ridden and terrified at the prospect of seeing him again. But Rhiannon had his back. If the inevitable meeting between the good Captain and Barnes ended up turning bad, she would intervene and try to keep both of them from doing something they may later regret. “Stay in your nest as long as you can, but if you get made go into the tower and we’ll meet at the bottom. Maybe, if we get lucky and since you’re covered from head to toe, they won’t recognize you until we’ve finished.”

“Affirm.”

“1-3 to 1-1,” her Titan announced suddenly. “Download of all data is complete. Awaiting further orders.”

“Hold position until I give the word, Rome.”

“Copy that.”

And just then the first man of the approaching combat team stuck his head in through the busted down remnants of the door and got a skull full of lead for his troubles. The remaining five opened fire, unleashing a hail of bullets to crash through the entryway and chip away at the wall surrounding it. A quick flick of her wrist had a hologram of herself charging out into the gunfire, drawing their attention, while she quickly rummaged into another one of her pouches. She rolled out into the entryway and flung a throwing star into the crowd of HYDRA goons and watched in glee as they were all caught up in the blue vortex of the Gravity Star.

She rose up onto one knee, lining their flailing bodies up in her sights, and squeezed the trigger. One, two, three, four and five pulls, small and controlled bursts of full-auto fire, and then they were dead. Their limp bodies hung in the air for another handful of seconds before dropping in a series of thuds as the gravitational vortex ceased to be and the throwing star went inert. Another pulse blade tossed into the floor found that the remnants of force within the building, another eight, were lingering two floors down. They were probably waiting for the kill confirmation from the first team or for a set period of time to pass before they would assume failure and advance on her position themselves.

She wasn’t going to be giving them that chance.

“1-1 to 1-2. What’s it looking like outside?” she asked, standing and swapping out the magazine in her SMG before also retrieving the two pulse blades that had been scattered around the room.

“Gunfire within Bravo and Charlie. No sign yet of…” An explosion interrupted the rest of Barnes’ report, loud enough to make even her ears rings inside her helmet and the building shake on its foundation. Shaking her head, she used the sudden burst of noise to make her move to the staircase, hoping to get the drop on the rest of the tangos in Delta.

“Status, 1-2!” she barked over the radio as she jogged along.

A moment of silence on the other end of the line, before it crackled back to life.

“Green. I’m green,” Barnes replied, sounding unharmed and mostly unbothered. “Front gate got blown open by a missile strike. Probably Iron Man’s doing.” A pause and she could hear the faintest trace of what sounded like jet engines rushing by in the background. “Confirmed. Iron Man and… shit, it’s the guy with the wings from DC. Don’t know his name, but they’re both in the air. Steve and the Asgardian – whatever his name is – are charging through the ruins of the gate. No sign of the Hulk.”

The crack of a bullet comes over the comm. A very close bullet.

“Shit! Got spotted. Wing-Guy took a pot-shot at me on a fly-by. Moving inside Alpha. I’ll take out anyone inside and then hole up until you’re clear of Delta.”

“Received,” she says, reaching the staircase at last and vaulting over the railing. She dropped down, keying her jump kit at the appropriate floor to slow her momentum and send her up and over onto the landing. A pulse blade revealed the interior, still eight hostiles all grouped up and it looked to her like the layout of this floor was going to be a CQC paradise. Nice and tight. The C.A.R. wouldn’t do as well in that environment, so it was a good thing she had brought another gun.

Rhiannon collapsed the submachine gun into a shorter form, slinging it back into the magnetic sweet spot across her back in exchange for her shotgun, a M1901 Mastiff. She activated her cloak and slipped through the door, skirting through the first room and moving into position within range of the eight. Her cloak failed and she quickly sent a holo-pilot careening into the room to draw their fire and tossed an incendiary throwing star – a Fire Star – right on its heels to burn them with a spitting font of thermite.

She took off, at a full jump kit assisted sprint, with the Mastiff tucked into the meat of her shoulder.

Two men that were grouped together on the far-left side were both caught in the chest by her first spray of plasma shotgun pellets. Six left, though one was currently writhing and shrieking next to the pool of hissing thermite. He’d probably be dead before she was even done. The next shot took another guy across the neck and head and he dropped like a stone with a fine red mist where his face had been. She dropped into a quick slide across the floor to avoid haphazard gunfire from the those still alive, but she was moving far too fast for these normal grunts to keep up with.

Four left and two more shells. The third round took out two more who had also clustered together, with the horizontal spread of energized pellets searing through them at center mass. Two left and one more shot. They were spreading out. She focused on the closer, rushing forward in the blink of an eye to slam the barrel of her shotgun into his abdomen before pulling the trigger.

He screamed in agony for a hot fraction of a second before his torso all but exploded outwards.

One more.

She stood and watched him for a moment, taking a sick pleasure in the fear on his swarthy face, before she was on him like a rabid dog. The shotgun was empty, so she dropped it, drawing her secondary sidearm, a B3 Wingman Elite, as she pinned him down under her boot. In the blink of eye and with the lightest squeeze of her finger, she put a .50 caliber round right between his panicked, brown eyes with a thunderous bang.

Room cleared and a precautionary pulse blade showed that the remainder of the building was also clear all the way down to the basement level.

“1-1 to 1-2. Delta is clear of hostiles,” she reported, holstering her heavy revolver. “Heading down to the generators now. How’s Alpha?”

“Not very busy,” Barnes replied, not even sounding even the slightest bit out of breath. “Only run into thirteen so far and I’m already on the ninth floor. Most seem to be rushing the main gate.”

“Well that’s a good place for them to go,” she quipped, retrieving her Mastiff and reloading the under-barrel tube magazine with the shells looped through one of her harness straps. Her feet carried her quickly back at to staircase, even as her hands were busy reloading, and she started jogging down the spiraling concrete steps. “Means there’s less between us and the elevators when the time comes.”

A hum of agreement came over the channel, before he said, “Got tangos. Going silent.”

“Received. Good hunting,” she replied and channel went quiet, leaving Rhiannon alone with her thoughts as she finally arrived on the lowest level of the building.

It was mostly just one thought, really.

Everything else running through her mind – the mission and the killing – was nearly entirely muscle memory, so thorough and ingrained was her training and her years of experience. But this singular thought was something might need to be addressed very, very soon.

Should she – and how should she – go about announcing her team’s presence to the Avengers?

They were by all accounts a friendly force. Allies against HYDRA and Rhiannon didn’t really feel like getting shot by the good guys. Or letting Rome get damaged by them. Or having Barnes get hurt by what was technically friendly fire.

It made a hell of a lot of sense to introduce themselves to prevent accidental injury. It wasn’t like she was going to say right from the get-go who they were and why they were there. That would have been fucking stupid. So, even as she shoved her data knife into the control panel of the generators supplying the power to this level of the installation, Rhiannon continued to mull over the question.

“1-1 to all Prowlers. Opinions on telling the Avengers that we’re here so we don’t get shot at?” she ended up asking after a hot minute of going nowhere with her internal deliberations. Waiting for their reply as she slaved the base’s power supply to follow her commands and began to head back towards the roof of the building to make her exit.

“You want to do what now?” was Barnes’ reply, loud with disbelief, before being cut off by her Titan.

“Plan of action is advisable,” Rome replied, ever the voice of level-headed reasoning and cold-hard facts. “Logical to avoid unnecessary risk of injury by possibly friendly elements.”

Well that was that, then.

“I don’t…”

“Two to one, 1-2. You’ve been outvoted. Rome, patch me into their comms,” she commanded.

A moment passed.

“Successfully patched into Avengers communication network. Transmit when ready, Pilot.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath, preparing herself to make contact.

“Attention, Captain Rogers and the Avengers,” she announced, hoping with a wish and a prayer that her idea paid off without grievous repercussions. “This is callsign Prowler 1-1. We are a friendly fireteam on mission within this AO. I repeat, we are friendlies. Please confirm.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied. You get another chapter right now, not on the weekend. Motivation and inspiration was pretty friggin' high so I churned this out in almost no time at all. So Happy Wednesday, everybody! Enjoy some action and violence against evil, nasty HYDRA and, le gasp, a plot-twist and some entirely, most definitely, unexpected drama. 
> 
> *swoons*
> 
> But also, side-note, I don't ask for much but I'd really like to get some more comments on this story. A bit of reader feedback on how you guys think this idea is going so far. Some critiques, if needed. Some praise if you're all about it. Maybe even some ideas of your own. I could always use a little outside creativity, because my silly brain can only do so much. However, still giving a big thank you to everyone who had left kudos, subscribed and bookmarked. Every time I see the numbers go up I get just a little bit giddy and get a crazy little smile on my face that would probably make most people a little nervous. "Like, oh my God, somebody liked my thing. Oh boy, happy day!"


	7. Chapter 7

**0036 HOURS | NOVEMBER 09, 2014 | BELASICA MOUNTAIN RANGE, BULGARIA-GREECE BORDER**

_“Attention, Captain Rogers and the Avengers. This is callsign Prowler 1-1. We are a friendly fireteam on mission within this AO. I repeat, we are friendlies. Please confirm.”_

When the Avengers, based on reliable intelligence, had begun their siege on the HYDRA facility in the mountains they couldn’t have even begun to guess that something like this would end up happening. They had expected the usual. Scaling the walls. Breaching the gate. Fighting all of the bad guys and destroying all of their stuff. Capturing the person in charge, turning him or her over to NATO and then flying back to the Tower for a well-deserved celebratory meal and low-key debriefing.

They’d taken five HYDRA installations down in just that manner, but to hear such a message in the midst of their assault on the base was entirely unanticipated.

By all of them.

“Say what now?” Stark barked out over the radio, overly loud in his incredulity over the broadcast, as he flew in wide loops around the perimeter in the forty-third iteration of his Iron Man suit.

“Friendlies in a HYDRA base?” Clint Barton, more formerly known as Hawkeye, asked in equal amounts of disbelief. The archer had taken up a suitable roost in the southern tower and was shooting his arrows, tipped with homing and explosive heads, at large groupings of attackers. “Yeah… Like we’re going to trust that. And how’d they even tap into our comms, anyways?”

“Is this some of new sort of ploy by our enemies?” Thor, the hammer and lightning wielding Asgardian prince, demanded as one particularly unlucky HYDRA soldier got his ribs shattered by Mjölnir.

“Got suspicious written all over it, Cap,” Natasha chimed in, having flushed out any HYDRA from the western tower and was making her exit to regroup with the ground force.

“I’m with Widow on this one, Steve,” Sam Wilson, under the newly minted callsign of the Falcon, added in finality as he swooped down from the skies to strafe an approaching cluster of goons with his guns. “Hard to believe that any foreign military would be able or willing to take a crack at HYDRA.”

The only one silent in the conversation was Dr. Bruce Banner, who due to the base’s smaller size and meager complement of troops, had remained behind with the quinjet to monitor their situation from afar. The Hulk would only be called into action if the situation took a turn for the worst, which would hopefully not be necessary as they still did not have a clear-cut method to un-Hulk the good Doctor.

But Steve, using his shield to bludgeon those enemies that were attempting to surround him and block their gunfire, had a feeling. A gut instinct, if you will, that this wasn’t some hoax or trick of HYDRA’s.

It was actually beginning to make a bit more sense now.

Their info had claimed that there would be two-man guard patrols on each of the towers and yet, when they had rolled up on the facility, the gate-facing towers had been clear on top. A fact which had made it a hell of a lot easier for the internationally famous spies to scale the walls and get on the inside.

But now, here was this strange woman. Her voice was lightly accented and she was accompanied by a team of who knows how many others, who was broadcasting without any sort of difficulty over their heavily encrypted radio channel. Steve had to figure out how to address this, but he was feeling almost out of his depth. Something like this had never happened before. The Avengers, who were only a couple of months into their period of HYDRA hunting activity, had not yet worked alongside any other sort of organization. Not foreign militaries and most certainly not independent contractors.

He stepped back from the fight and switched positions with Thor, who charged forward and unleashed a chain of lightning into the crowd to give them a bit of breathing room. Room enough for him to answer their mysterious, possible ally without fear of being overwhelmed by his enemies.

“This is Captain Rogers,” he called out over the line. “I read you, Prowler. What’s your affiliation?”

_“Classified, Captain. Sorry about that,”_ she replied, sounding honest, but it was hard to tell when only listening to a voice. _“But we aren’t HYDRA trying to pull one over on you, I can promise you that much.”_

“Hard to put trust in a face I can’t see,” Steve replied, looking around to see if there was a pocket of fighting somewhere else on the base, but he couldn’t see or hear anything definitive. The fighting, for the time being, was too thick to distinguish any non-Avenger related combat. “What’s your mission?”

_“Well, that I most certainly can tell you. The boys and I are here to kick HYDRA’s teeth in and burn this fucking place to the ground.”_

“Mmm,” Romanoff hummed in appreciation. “I think I’m starting to like her. She’s fiery.”

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” Barton asked.

Steve ignored their banter, having grown used to it while working alongside them both for the past two years with a great degree of frequency. The pair were thick as thieves and incredibly chatty when on a mission that no longer required an element of stealth.

But he could agree with Natasha’s assessment of their mystery caller.

This dame, whoever she was, had moxie and gumption to spare.

“How many on your team?”

_“Three,”_ she answered quickly. _“Two of us this side and our third on the other.”_

“A pretty small team for something this big. Don’t you think, mystery lady?” Tony chimed in with the usual amount of sarcasm coloring his tone. The billionaire clearly wasn’t buying her story.

_“We’ve done well enough so far, Mister Stark.”_

Steve could just hear Stark thinking up a witty retort, but in the middle of combat was not the place to be taking their eye off the ball. The HYDRA forces, those who had swarmed for their initial assault looked to be pulling back towards the mountain. While Steve would’ve liked to press the advantage, push them while they were in retreat, the current situation needed to be handled first.

“What’s your location, Prowler?” he asked.

_“East building,”_ she reported and his head snapped over to look at the structure in question. The lights were still on, but there wasn’t any visible movement on the inside. Had she already cleared it? _“Be advised, those tangos running away are heading into the vehicle garage. Good chance they’re planning to roll out with some armor and big guns.”_

And it seemed that no sooner had she said it, her prediction came true.

Steve heard the roar of engines and the harsh screech of tires peeling out, before suddenly the night was alight with heavy weapons fire. A trio of Non-Standard Tactical Vehicles, which were otherwise known as NSTVs or Technicals – civilian pick-up trucks mounted with what looked like .50 caliber heavy machine guns – came racing out of the garage in a staggered formation. And at the rear end of their high-speed convoy was an APC, an armored personnel carrier, armed with a belt-fed automatic grenade launcher which began bombarding their position with explosions. Alongside the vehicles there were a spread of regrouped HYDRA agents, several dozen strong, that were advancing under the safety provided by their wheeled escort.

“Contact front!” he yelled, bringing up his shield to block the incoming bullets and strafing to avoid the falling grenades. Steve fell back towards Natasha’s position as she began to take shots at the troops advancing on foot while using his body as her cover. “Barton, stay on overwatch. Target the ground forces. Tony, take the APC. Thor, take the first and second vehicles. Sam, you get the third. Gunners before drivers.”

His team moved to execute, but the radio crackled to life before they could reach their targets.

_“On approach, Captain. It’s time to put my money where my mouth is. Coming up on your six, so check your fire and watch your heads.”_

Over the clamor of gunfire and grenades, it was impossible to hear any difference of sound, but over the radio he heard the simultaneous exclamations of stunned shock and surprise from Barton, Stark and Wilson. Those three members of his team that had the best view of the field from either the tower where the archer was perched or flying through the air without any normal obstructions.

“Whoa!”

“Holy…”

“Damn!”

It seemed that Prowler 1-1 had chosen to join the fight.

From overhead he could suddenly hear the ever so faint whoosh of thrusters, sounding very much like the Iron Man suit’s foot-mounted repulsor jets. Then, in the blink of an eye, a humanoid figure was racing over his head. In that split second of time, Steve took his eyes off of the fight in front of him – while keeping his shield braced and at the ready – and glanced up to take in their newest arrival.

They swung around the south-west end of the building with a waist-mounted jetpack propelling them – or rather her – along at incredibly high speed, tethered like a pendulum to the corner of the structure by a thin, metal cable. The cable detached and retracted as she landed on the exterior wall of the second building without so much as losing a single ounce of her inconceivable forward momentum. She ran along the wall of the shorter building – kept up in the air by a sustained level of thrust from the jetpack – for a fraction of a second before pushing off powerfully with her legs. At the apex of her forceful jump the jetpack fired again with a quick burst of blue flame, pushing her across the rest of the divide, before she continued her run on the wall of the larger building.

And all of that had taken place over the course of less than three seconds. It was only due to the effects of the super-soldier serum that Steve had been able to see every one of her moves in startling clarity. She was closing in on the convoy, which had only just spotted her and were beginning to direct some of their gunfire in her direction.

But it was too late, because she was on them.

Steve then came to the realization – far too late – that this woman was no normal soldier.

She was Enhanced.

To what degree, he couldn’t accurately tell, but no normal human could move like that.

An inch-thick disk, approximately six inches in diameter, was from tossed from her hands to land just in front of the first Technical. A curved wall of orange light appeared, about three meters wide and two meters tall, where the disk landed and the first vehicle crashed into at full speed. The hood crunched like an accordion on impact and the sudden stop had the truck flipping up and over itself, flinging the gunner from the bed and brutalizing the passengers stuck within the cab.

She jumped from the wall and dropped down towards the second vehicle. Two flashes of silver flew out from her hands to land amidst the ground troops on either side as she flew. One them exploded into a pool of hissing, spitting fire, which Steve soon recognized as thermite, and the HYDRA goons caught in the splash zone were set ablaze. They ran and screamed in a panic, some dropping dead in an instant and others rolling about on the asphalt trying to extinguish themselves.

But thermite didn’t work that way.

The second projectile bloomed into a glowing blue vortex of energy that snagged up any poor bastard within a set radius and sent them tumbling head over heels. From behind his back, the Black Widow took the opportunity to pick off those caught in the apparent gravitational anomaly with her handguns. But Steve could still hear the screaming and shouts as Prowler 1-1 continued her assault on HYDRA.

Driven by his own curiosity and the necessity of combat, Steve advanced in her wake with Natasha hot on his heels. He felt compelled to bear witness the rest of what this woman was bringing to the party. The violence she was about to inflict upon his enemies. And in addition, the level of distraction and destruction she was causing was providing ample opportunity for them to strike at the ground forces without too much resistance.

Thor followed his example, advancing into the fray as well, while Tony and Sam – seemingly just as curious as Steve was – only did minimal damage to the HYDRA grunts and left the rest of the convoy untouched for Prowler 1-1.

Landing feet first on the second NSTV, she swung out with one of her firearms and blasted through the windshield with what appeared to be some sort of energy shotgun. But she never stopped moving forward and maintained her incredible speed against the gun’s recoil. Two shots into the cab – boom, boom – and she was onto the gunner. A quick jerk of her arms had her bludgeoning the guy across the face with the barrel of her gun with enough force to send him flying backwards.

A line of cable then shot out from one of her arms and a grappling hook-like attachment latched onto the third Technical’s hood. The jetpack fired once more to send her flying up and over the vehicle as it drove beneath her. She tossed out another projectile – a throwing star by the looks of it – onto the vehicle’s hood which erupted into another fountain of searing thermite. The driver swerved in a panic as the high-temperature chemical reaction burnt through the sheet metal and they careened out of control, on course to crash into one of the buildings. But just at the last moment the grapple detached and Prowler 1-1 continued flying onwards on a direct course for the armored personnel carrier.

The grenadier of the APC was ready, however. But as soon as they opened fire, her figure vanished in a muted flash of white light and the grenades sailed straight through her former position.

Was this some sort of invisibility tech?

No. If she was just invisible the rounds would have hit her, right?

It would’ve taken a great deal of skill for her to have avoided the grenades in mid-air.

One… Two… Three seconds passed and then she reappeared in another flash of the same light, but in the air just behind the APC. The grapple came out once more and latched onto the hull, pulling her down onto the roof. As her boot’s touched down, she shot the grenadier in the head with one of her sidearms, pulling his body up and out of the gunner’s seat without any semblance of difficulty.

She then jumped down and vanished into the interior of the vehicle.

No sooner had she gotten inside when the APC screeched to a sudden stop and began rocking violently on its six wheels. Over the din of the fighting on the ground, the muffled sounds of gunshots and the bang of metal on metal could be heard from within.

“Cap, I’m coming down from the tower. You don’t need me up here any longer, because it looks to me like the new girl did most of the work for us,” Clint announced over the radio, just as the three Avengers on the ground – Thor, Natasha and Steve – rushed forward into the fray to clean up the remnants of the second wave of HYDRA agents.

Mjölnir was flying left and right, with the Asgardian levels of strength behind the hammer sending handfuls of men flying with nearly each swing. Natasha’s handguns were firing in sequence, without a single shot missing its target, as she closed range with the nearest group of soldiers. The short red-head leapt into the air, wrapping her legs around the neck of her first victim, and transitioning into hand-to-hand. Steve charged in as well, bashing the first man with his shield in the chest, before tearing into the others with his fists and feet.

Stark and Wilson also swooped down into the action. Bullets from the Falcon’s guns mowing down those caught on the outskirts and Iron Man’s repulsors targeting those few carrying heavier weaponry such as light machine guns, grenade launchers and rocket launchers. And while the Black Widow and Asgardian Prince were just clearing out the agents, Steve had a specific goal in mind as he cut a swath through the clearly outmatched HYDRA goons.

He was heading straight towards the APC with the sole intention of meeting Prowler 1-1 face-to-face.

The driver-side door on the carrier was suddenly kicked off of its hinges with a deafening bang and the heavy plate of contoured metal smashed fatally into a nearby agent. A body came tumbling out of the vehicle and fell limply onto the ground with its head twisted at an unnatural angle. Their mystery woman, in her strange and foreign looking assortment of clearly high-tech tactical equipment, flung herself out third and landed with an unnatural grace.

Her gear looked a bit like something Stark could’ve thought up in his spare time.

Steve was still some distance away and there was a dozen or so HYDRA agents between the two of them. But for some unknowable reason, that he could not have possibly understood at that time, the majority of them seemed to consider her to be the greater threat.

Eight broke away to challenge her.

The other four converged on him and Steve brought up his shield to bash the first in line at center mass, while snapping out one of his legs to break the knee of a second. He could hear the whoosh of her jetpack’s thrusters firing in close proximity, accompanied by the whistle of a knife blade through the air and the near deafening bang of a high caliber firearm. The third man who rushed him was knocked out with a straight jab to the face, with the sensation of a nose shattering beneath his knuckles, and the fourth he caught in the neck with the swinging edge of the shield.

He looked up just in time to find her putting down her last opponent by burying the thick, serrated blade of a combat knife deep into his jugular. She withdrew the knife quickly, flicking the point towards the ground with nearly audible splatter of blood, before twirling it in her gloved hand and shoving it back into a holster on her right thigh.

Upon inspection, the woman, with her head hidden underneath a full-face helmet, was quite literally bristling with weaponry.

Four knives that he could see sheathed on both of her legs, across her chest and perched on her right shoulder. Two holsters for sidearms on each of her thighs, one holding a suppressed handgun and the second of which was most likely the home for the bulky revolver in her other hand. And then there were the two longer guns that were somehow attached to her back without straps. The first of the firearms was the shotgun from before and the second was a compact looking gun painted with vibrant orange, white and black.

“Prowler 1-1?” Steve asked as he watched her warily, keeping a healthy portion of his attention on the gun that was still in her hand.

“That’d be me,” she said, her voice now coming out over external speakers that must’ve been built into her helmet, instead of over the radio. In that moment of calm, with the sounds of combat fading by the second, she holstered the revolver after seeming to decide that she was no longer in need of it. Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve could see the others finishing up their fights and beginning to walk over to where he stood.

Clint was the first to arrive on scene with Natasha and Thor walking up soon afterwards and lastly, with a heavy clunk and muted thud, Sam and Tony came down from the sky. Together they formed a semi-circle around the woman, a precaution should she prove herself to be hostile, but she seemed far from perturbed and completely at ease surrounded by the world’s greatest team of superheroes.

“So, you got a name?” Barton asked, appearing to volunteer himself to lead the interrogation.

Before she could muster a reply, Stark stepped forward with one of his gauntleted hands partially raised, accompanied by the faint whine of a repulsor powering up, and his voice sounding almost enraged. “No. No. You know what, I don’t even care what your name is. What I really wanna know is where the hell you got all of this tech? I’ve never seen or even heard of half the shit you just flung around. There’s no military in the world that’s fielding that level of gear.”

She took one step backwards, one of her hands twitching over the heavy revolver once more, and the other coming up as if to fend the irate billionaire off physically. “Whoa there, tin can. Tap the brakes,” she said. “My tech isn’t any of your business.”

“No, no, no, no. You’re going to tell me…”

“Stand down, Tony,” Steve chided as he stepped slightly forward so as to place himself between the two. “She just took out a hostile convoy at great personal risk to help us. That should allow her a bit leeway in regards to her gear.”

A moment of heavy silence.

“Thank you, Captain,” she said, tilting her helmet slightly in his direction. “The name’s Lastimosa.”

“Many thanks for your assistance, good lady!” Thor cheered loudly, proffering Mjölnir in the air as a sign of victory and celebration.

“No problem. Glad I could help out. Good guys gotta stick together, yeah?” she asked rhetorically, before her head swiveled around to look over her shoulder. “And I hate to be the bearer of bad news but the third wave of these HYDRA fuckers is coming up the elevators right now.”

“How can you tell that?” Romanoff asked, her eyes narrowed with a heavy dose of suspicion. Wilson appeared equally skeptical, but Steve wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Intel was intel and any preemptive warning of an attack was appreciated.

“I’m currently hacked into their network and power grid. Got an alert as soon as the elevators started ascending. Looks like two IFVs and a large platoon in full kit. Forty something guys or so,” Lastimosa reported succinctly. “So, you might want to start getting ready for another fight.”

“You plannin’ to stick around and help again?” Sam asked and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Where and when I can,” she replied. “Gotta regroup with my other guy this side – Prowler 1-2 – and continue with our mission objectives.”

A wailing siren and the flash of strobing red lights interrupted their conversation, signaling the arrival of the elevators, and sending the Avengers back into combat mode. In that brief moment of time where the sudden lights and sounds drew their attention away from her, Lastimosa had seemingly vanished into thin air.

There had been no flash of peculiar white light this time. They would’ve noticed that. She was just gone and Steve didn’t have the luxury to order a search for her. He would just have to trust that she was really on their side.

Stark and Sam launched back into the air, where they had the tactical advantage, while Steve led the ground team head-first into the next conflict. The two infantry fighting vehicles, a new model that he knew had been designed entirely by HYDRA, rolled out of the now open blast doors. They were outfitted with potent and dangerous weaponry far beyond the capabilities of any modern armament. The blue bolts of energy, just like the HYDRA weapons back in the 1940s, lanced out from the main gun, while machine gun fire came from the secondary weapon emplacements.

The next few minutes were a blur of heated violence.

Stark targeted the first IFV and Thor charged the second, while Wilson strafed the soldiers streaming out of the elevators into the open area outside. In the meantime, Steve, Clint and Natasha moved into the heart of the fray to do as much damage as they could. Arrows and bullets flying from the pair of spies, as they fought back-to-back. Steve’s shield bashing any who came close to him and being tossed with near physic-defying accuracy and enough power to knock down anyone it struck. His fists and feet lashed out, snapping bone upon impact, and causing grievous injury to those he hit.

But what the Steve, the Avengers and HYDRA had not been expecting was for a sudden influx of gunfire to come from the far side of the conflict.

_“Friendlies on your two, Captain.”_

Lastimosa had seemingly returned with the second member of her fireteam in tow.

The two laid into the far side of the HYDRA force with a sustained hail of bullets, advancing step-by-step and back-to-back. Gracefully stepping in and out of the forward position when one of them needed to swap magazines and using the other’s body as mobile cover. They performed this sequence twice, reloading their guns in a perfectly smooth and coordinated rhythm, with an SMG in Lastimosa’s hands and a light machine gun of in the other’s.

The second member of the Prowlers appeared to be male – well above average in height and broad at the shoulders – with what was clearly a great deal of military experience. All of their shots were unerringly accurate, transitioning their aim smoothly from one target to the next as they both fired in short, controlled bursts. And then, as they came within range of HYDRA’s staggered and scattered front line, the two holstered their main weapons, and flung a quartet of throwing stars and grenades into the crowd. The ordinance provided a distraction – thermite, gravity, electricity and shrapnel disturbing the ranks – as the pair switched over to weapons more suitable for close-quarters and dove into the fray without an ounce of hesitation.

With the Avengers tearing through the left-hand side and the two other attackers decimating the right, HYDRA was very quickly finding themselves to be hilariously outmatched by their opponents.

Thor had taken out the first of the IFVs with only some degree of difficulty. With his Asgardian strength, the God of Thunder had bent the main gun in two, ripped open the side paneling, tossing the occupants of the vehicle left and right and frying all of the internal systems with a burst of crackling lightning. Shortly afterwards, with a little help from an explosive arrowhead sent in through a gap in the armoring, Stark sliced through the firing mechanism of the second IFV with his wrist-mounted lasers and targeted all of those inside with micro-missiles.

Hawkeye lingered at the back offering strategic fire-support with his specialty arrows as the newest Avenger, the Falcon, swooped down from the sky to take up a post on the archer’s flank. In practiced tandem, the Black Widow and Captain America used their superior skills in close-quarters combat to dive deep into the crowd. The patented Widow Bites were shocking all those they touched into unconsciousness and the circular shield of incredibly rare Vibranium blocked bullets and broke bones in equal measure with every swing and throw.

But even in the midst of the action, Natasha Romanoff kept a fraction of her attention on the mysterious Lastimosa and her equally unknown partner. After the destruction of the convoy at the woman’s hands, all over and done with in less than two minutes, the ex-Russian spy was too well trained not to realize how dangerous this woman was. An assessment that was proved in spades by witnessing how Lastimosa punched, kicked, sliced and shot her way through anyone dumb enough to get in her way. Compounded with however much augmentation and enhancement the woman had received…

It made her nearly on par with Rogers’ level at a quick estimate.

As such she was an incredibly, dangerous foe.

Or a potentially advantageous asset to have on their side.

But only time would tell if Lastimosa would end up as their ally or their enemy.

However, it was when catching sight of the woman’s partner – designated as Prowler 1-2 – that Romanoff felt a brief chill run down her spine. His fighting style was unsettlingly familiar, but Natasha couldn’t quite place it in that moment in time. But the unnatural strength put behind his punches, particularly those made with his left arm, that sent men flying backwards when they were struck. The smooth way he transitioned from opponent to opponent without breaking his stride, a semi-automatic handgun in one hand while the other flipped and twirled and tossed a combat knife to and fro.

Her eyes widened ever so slightly – even as she moved forward to engage with another set of HYDRA soldiers – as an improbable hunch took root within the confines of her mind. A hunch that in any other sort of circumstance would be so far out of the realm of reality that she would have immediately tossed it out as pure insanity. But given their current location, it was all the more likely that she was actually correct. And if her hunch proved itself to be true… Then this could get very bad, very quickly.

Especially for Steve.

The fight was nearly at an end, but one particular HYDRA goon in his last act of defiance took aim at the vulnerably open back of Lastimosa, who was embroiled in another fight across the way. He pulled the trigger of his gun and hoped to at least take one of his enemies down before his inevitable death.

BANG!

Ping.

The bullet ricocheted away in a small flash of sparks as a blur of dark colored tactical gear, in a distinctly different style than those worn by the HYDRA forces, put itself between the shooter and the intended target. A deafening bang from a handgun, held in the opposite hand of Lastimosa’s last minute savior, put a round through the attempted murderer’s skull. But the damage had been done and the end of the fighting fell quickly into an awkwardly tense and weighted silence.

A gaping tear had torn through the bullet-resistant cloth covering Prowler 1-2’s left arm. In the bright floodlights that illuminated the interior of the HYDRA base the shine of silver metal underneath the hole was all but obvious to the Avengers that looked on.

Natasha’s hunch had been proved correct and Steve felt himself go cold, like all of his blood had turned to liquid nitrogen in his veins. His eyes were latched with panicked accuracy onto that limb of metal.

He knew that arm.

Steve’s eyes flickered upwards to look straight into the masked face, entirely covered by a hat, a pair of goggles and patterned scarf. A face that was looking straight at him as well, even as the body it was attached to shifted back on its heels, withdrawing to stand beside Lastimosa. The other Avengers closed it, forming another loose semi-circle, while Wilson and Romanoff took up places on either side of their Captain. Together the three formed a united gathering of those who knew and had identified Prowler 1-2 for who he actually was.

“Bucky?” Steve asked waveringly, torn between his burgeoning hope and mind-numbing shock, his feet shifting to take an instinctual step closer. But Lastimosa was equally quick with her own reaction, sliding in front of her partner and posting up in a protective stance, gloved hands still gripping one of her knives and that heavy revolver of hers.

“Stay right where you are, Rogers,” she warned and Steve felt a spark of anger bloom in his chest. Who the hell did she think she was to get between him and the man he’d known with an intimate familiarity since the late 1920s? His best and closest friend. A man he had once regarded as nearly a brother, who had transitioned over the long years into being the greatest love of his life.

“You know who that is at your back?” Wilson asked incredulously, believing that the strange woman just had to be ignorant of Barnes’ historical background. “That’s the Winter Soldier, Lastimosa. One of the greatest weapons in HYDRA’s entire arsenal. A super-soldier and an assassin without equal.”

“I’m aware,” the helmeted woman growled out, yet her focus never deviated from Steve. “But he’s off their leash. Free of them. And right now, the entire reason we’re even at this base, is to make sure that there is one less way for them take advantage of him and put him back under their control.”

A brief moment of quiet passed before…

“Wait, wait, wait!” Stark interrupted with blatant confusion coloring his tone. “You mean to say that that guy right there is James “Bucky” Barnes? Cap’s bestest buddy in the whole wide world?”

“Yes. That’s him,” Romanoff said with a nod of her head.

“Then surely this is a joyous occasion!” Thor boomed with a wide grin on his face, seemingly unaware of the distinct tension that permeated the entire situation.

“Yeah… Not so much,” Barton grumbled under his breath. “More of a cluster-fuck, actually.”

But Steve wasn’t paying attention. All of his focus had narrowed down to Bucky and the woman who was standing in his way. “Stand down, Lastimosa, and get out of my way. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Oh, it very much does concern me,” she hissed out and Steve was more than certain that there was a particularly nasty expression on her face beneath that helmet of hers. “You want to talk? Fine. But that’s his decision to make and you’re going to wait until after we’ve completed our mission.”

“No! You…” Steve began to say, standing tall in an unintentional attempt to intimidate the woman with his greater size, but a heavy huff of breath stopped him in his tracks. Motion from behind Lastimosa drew his eyes as the scarf and goggles were pulled down around his neck and an all too familiar face was revealed under the lights. The very same pale skin, bright blue-gray eyes, that strong jaw and cleft chin that Steve knew with an aching familiarity. Though a heavy shadow of stubble covered his jaw and chin, quite a bit longer and scruffier than it had even been back in Washington D.C.

“You always were impatient, weren’t you?” Bucky asked with a quiet and resigned tone of voice. “Never did know when to give up…”

Bright hope flared in Steve’s chest, like a fire given oxygen.

He remembered!

He knew him!

“Buck…”

“You’ve gotta wait until we’re done here, Captain,” Lastimosa urged. “We’ve got a schedule to adhere to tonight or all our efforts will have been in vain.”

“Let us go,” Bucky nearly pleaded. “Steve, you’ve gotta let us go.”

But Steve didn’t want to.

He wanted Bucky back then and there. Wanted to hold him tight and never let go. To never let anybody else take him away from him again. To kiss him and love him and help him to overcome the traumas of his past in any way possible.

As if sensing Steve’s reluctance to let them go without a fight – to even let them go out of his sight – Lastimosa and Bucky seemed to have chosen a plan of action for themselves. Simultaneously, they tossed canister grenades from their belts, which quickly twirled and spun uncontrollably, spewing a thick cloud of pale gray smoke into the air. It grew and expanded into enormous proportions in only a few moments and then suddenly thin arcs of blue colored electricity sparked within the smoke and it began to hum with discharging energy.

Like the hum of high-tension power lines.

The Avengers charged in unison at the cloud, trying to break through and apprehend the escaping pair, but were rebuffed. Alarms within the Iron Man suit blared as it began to spark and fizzled as it was overloaded by the current that was specifically designed to short out mechanical and digital systems. Steve, Sam, Clint and Natasha had barely touched the smoke before they were leaping backwards as well, hissing and swearing from the electrical burns that they had so sudden accrued. Even Thor, mighty as he was, jumped back from the smoke with his armor singed and smoking slightly, patting down his own arms which bore burns as well.

The others took a brief second to look at the God of Thunder in blatant confusion.

As if sensing their unasked questions, the Asgardian shrugged his great shoulders. “While I command lightning with great ease, I am not entirely immune to its effects and this cloud is quite potent.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t touch it, if I were you,” Lastimosa’s voice called out from the other side of the smoke. “Electric Smoke can kill you if you’re in it for too long. You’ll just have to wait until it dissipates.” And then she fell silent and Steve could hear – even over the faint hissing of the smoke and crackle of arcing electricity – the sound of two pairs of boots running away from them.

Right in the direction of the elevators.

A handful of seconds passed by and the Avengers were unable to do anything, standing around with their thumbs up their proverbial asses, but finally the smoke began to clear and the electrical current died. Steve plunged into the cloud as soon as it he deemed it safe enough to traverse, charging forward as quickly as he could and hoping that he would make it on time.

But he hadn’t.

The blast doors were nearly closed with less than a foot of space left and he could hear the ding of an elevator door – opening or closing, he couldn’t determine – from just beyond. But he wasn’t giving up so soon. He couldn’t. Bucky was right there! Steve sprinted onwards, quickly approaching his top speed, but he still didn’t make it in time. The doors had closed with a clang of metal and he heard the locking mechanisms clunk into place with a sense of foreboding finality.

Rage and renewed grief surged from within and his right hand clenched into an impossibly tight fist, his knuckles turning white with blood loss beneath his fingerless gloves. The fist came up and…

BANG!

He punched at the closed doors with all of his strength, relishing the pain that surged through his hand.

“Fuck…” he whispered, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cold steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's start the weekend off right... With a new chapter! Hope you enjoyed it! This one turned out way longer than I thought it was going to be. Got to around 3.5k and was like, "Oh, I'm nearly at the ending of my plot outline so this chapter will probably just make my 4k minimum word limit." But no... This fucker turned out to be nearly 6.5k! And we're still not done with the HYDRA Base! What? Anywho, next chapter should be the end of the HYDRA Base segment and should be out early this next week, because the writing mojo is flowin' and I'm apparently on a roll. Then we can leap out of what is basically just the introduction and get into the future story arcs, some of the movies and all that sort of stuff.
> 
> Oh! And FYI, for those of you more familiar with Titanfall lore and what the development teams have said about Pilots not being super-soldiers... Yeah, no. That doesn't fly here. They be super-ified with the power of technology in my head-canon, which will be elaborated on later in the story in great detail, because I cannot actually believe that even a highly trained normal human could pull off the shit they do in the games. The jump kit helps, sure, but the strain it would put on the human body to be constantly moving and flipping and jumping around at least 50 kph (maximum speed attainable in the Pilot's Gauntlet) would be absolutely ridiculous.


	8. Chapter 8

**0057 HOURS | NOVEMBER 09, 2014 | BELASICA MOUNTAIN RANGE, BULGARIA-GREECE BORDER**

The elevator doors slid closed and they began their descent into the underground facility.

“Well, that definitely could’ve gone better,” Rhiannon commented wryly, hunched over the elevator’s control panel with her data knife stabbed into the meat of the circuitry. She got no immediate reply and turned her head to look over at Barnes. He was staring down at the metal-grates of the elevator’s floor, the Longbow DMR and Spitfire LMG slung across his back by their straps, and she would bet anything that he had that patented zoned-out, glazed-over look in his eyes.

Apparently, the confrontation with Captain Rogers had not left him unscathed.

Pushing a button on the side of her helmet, the forehead and jaw segments separated and the visor retracted upwards, revealing most of her face to the open air. Physical eye contact had always seemed to work well to break him out of his own head.

“Barnes,” she called out softly, abandoning her knife, and sliding slowly over towards her partner. The elevator would continue down regardless if she was standing there or not. “Still with me?” His head tilted in her direction, still not looking at her, but a display that meant he had heard her voice and was actively listening. “You’ve gotta stay with me. Gotta focus on the here and now.”

He hummed, a plaintive sound from the back of his throat, before he whispered, “It hurts.”

Her heart broke a little with his admission.

“I know it does. I know,” she soothed, sidling right up into his personal space and putting a gloved hand on his right shoulder, squeezing and rubbing at the muscles underneath her grip. It had taken a great deal of patience and perseverance for him to become this comfortable with her touch, but it was proving to be an effective method of comfort for him. A way to ground his being in the here and now rather than the pain of his past. “But, as odd as it is to say, it’s a good thing that it hurts. If you had been unaffected at seeing Steve again, I’d be more worried.”

He drew in a shaky breath, followed by a second, as his right hand came up and was placed atop her own. His fingers wrapped around her hand and they stood still for a moment in a comforting silence with not much more than an inch between them. He looked over at her after a few seconds and she gave him a smile, full of as much warmth and compassion as she could muster in that moment. His eyes, which had previously been filled with a renewed sense of grief and pain, softened as his lips twitched up in an attempted smile of his own.

Several more moments passed before they pulled away from the comfort provided by their close-contact, Rhiannon returning to her knife and Barnes taking the time to check over his armaments for any possible problems.

“At least I didn’t try to kill him this time,” he commented, taking inventory of his remaining ammunition, with a sardonic positivity coloring his tone.

“Baby steps, right?” she joked and Barnes huffed in some semblance of an attempted chuckle.

“How long do we have until they come after us?” he asked, shifting slightly. “And could anyone below know that we’re coming down?

“Not sure,” she said, almost glancing upwards at the ceiling as if expecting the Avengers in all their superpowered might to sudden appear overhead. Rhiannon imagined that Captain America might be coming to take a pound of flesh out of her for daring to stand between him and Barnes. “I’d imagine Stark is a passable hacker, so maybe fifteen to twenty minutes at max. And no, the cameras in here are being scrambled and I’ve blocked any signals that might alert anyone that an elevator is descending.”

“Good.”

A brief lull in their conversation.

“Thanks for blocking that bullet, by the way,” she says, thinking over that split-second moment where he’d saved her bacon while dooming himself in the process. It was that lone bullet that had revealed his identity to those who were smart enough to put two and two together. Skilled combatant plus titanium arm equals James Buchanan Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier, ex-assassin for HYDRA.

“You would’ve done the same for me,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders as if it wasn’t that big of a deal and hadn’t created one of the greatest impediments towards the success of their mission. But it was true nonetheless, she would’ve done the same. Regardless of the fact that she was distinctly lacking in a metal arm to deflect bullets with. But she could’ve thought of something.

Maybe thrown down her A-Wall again?

Yeah, that would’ve done the trick quite nicely.

A ding came from the internal speakers of her helmet and she clicked it back into place around her head, glancing off the side as her HUD reappeared and reading the status message it displayed.

“Forty seconds,” she said, switching back to speaking over their private radio channel and bringing up the blueprints of the underground base’s interior to refamiliarize herself with their best possible route. “Pull your goggles back up. I’m killing all the lights when we arrive so we’ll be in the dark. First objective is the primary data center which is in the left-hand wing.”

“Understood.”

“Prowler 1-3, status update?” Rhiannon asked.

“Unchanged,” RA-5172 replied. “Assumption that the mission had proceeded to Stage Two?”

“Affirmative, big man. You are cleared to begin making your approach on the base, but you are cleared to engage if you are engaged first or if any aircraft start trying to make a break for it.”

“Orders received and acknowledged. Good luck, Pilot.”

Rhiannon watched, beginning to feel her usual sense of anticipation for a fight rising in her blood, as the distance and time until the elevator reached their destination ticked down. Twenty seconds left and less than a hundred more meters to go. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Barnes pulling the goggles back up and over his eyes, while leaving the scarf where it lay around his neck, and adjusting the strap so that the eyewear settled in the proper place.

Ten seconds.

They prepared themselves for silent combat. Knives in one hand and leaving their other arm free for strikes and possible grappling with their opponents. There would be no firearms used unless it became absolutely necessary.

Five. Four. Three. Two.

“Killing the power.”

One.

The interior of the elevator went dark and the both of them activated their night vision.

_Ding._

_“You have now arrived at the Super-Fucked-Up-Shit-Happens-Here Floor. Please mind your step when exiting the elevator and we hope you have a nice day.”_

There wasn’t actually a ding or any such announcement, but Rhiannon’s mind supplied them both for the enjoyment of her slightly perverse and dark sense of humor.

The pair slipped out through the open elevator doors on silent feet with Rhiannon taking point and Barnes guarding her six. In the distance down the hallways – in either direction – they could hear shouts and the general uncoordinated sounds of fear and panic from those personnel stationed on this level of the facility. They turned to the left and prowled down the hall on route to their current objective.

Any individual that crossed their path was killed.

Scientist or soldier, it didn’t matter to either of them.

They worked for HYDRA and were therefore found guilty.

The two moved in tandem in an elegant dance of death down the grid-like layout of hallways. Throats were slashed open – a gaping red smile opened from ear to ear – with palms clamped over mouths to muffle the sound of their last gurgling breaths. Spinal cords were severed with point-first stabs from behind, a surgically precise strike between the first and second cervical vertebrae. Bones were crushed beyond repair when arms – powered by a strength far beyond the average threshold – wrapped around their necks, proving to be inescapable as heads were pulled and twisted with a sickening crunch.

Several minutes after beginning their methodical clearing of the floor, with a total of twenty-six bodies left in their wake, they closed in on the primary data center. Rhiannon’s data knife hacked the doors, secured with a keypad and hand scanner, and with a quiet chime of success they swung into the room.

In the glow of computer monitors, the two inhabitants of the room spun on their heels while reaching for their sidearms. Rhiannon shot the one on the left a quick draw of her suppressed P2016 and Barnes took the other with a thrown knife to the neck. She lunged towards the nearest keyboard when she noticed what the closest monitor was displaying on-screen and a rapidly typed command had the data purge stopping in its tracks before any more information could be lost.

“How much did we lose?” Barnes asked quietly as he peered over her slightly hunched shoulders.

“Not too much,” she reported as she took out of her data knife and prepared to siphon the data for their own usage. “Couldn’t have been running for much more than a minute.” She shoved the data knife in and ran the hacking suite once more, opening the channel for RA-5172 to download it all. As the data began to be transferred the two settled in the wait it out.

An alert suddenly went off in Rhiannon’s helmet.

“They’ve gotten through the blast doors,” she reported, watching over the security cameras in front of the elevator bank as the Avengers came charged in. “Took ‘em ten minutes to get in. Now they’ve gotta get control over one of the elevators.”

“How long will that take?” Barnes asked. “We’ve still gotta destroy the Chair…”

“Only a minute left on the download,” she said, gauging the progress bar which was moving fast. “After that’s done, we’ll book it to the other side to set up the demolition before they can get down here.”

He hummed, glancing over at the open door in a brief moment of nervousness, before settling back against the far wall to wait. The second the data transfer was complete the two took off at a sprint, no longer concerning themselves with staying quiet. The sprinted down the second major corridor that ran the length of the entire base towards the section containing the laboratories and storage vaults.

They ran into two teams of surviving HYDRA personnel, both of which were geared up as combat teams, and tore through them both with a sense of savagery born from their need for speed. Their full-auto guns were swung around and unleashed on the groups from a distance, with those few left standing after the hail of bullets facing execution by a slashing knife or a fatal fist to the face.

But less than five minutes after they began their run, they skidded to an abrupt stop before the vault that contained their second objective on this level. The Memory Suppression Machine, otherwise known as the Chair. A device that had been developed solely for the purpose of erasing the memories of the person thrust into its grasp via the usage of surgically targeted electricity to fry the neurons and brain tissue that corresponded with memory retention.

Its very existence made Rhiannon sick to her stomach and as the door was unlocked and swung open, she dreaded having to even enter the room. But she knew that her reactions could not even touch upon what Barnes must have been feeling in that moment. To look at the very thing that had stolen away your autonomy and made you into the slave of those who crafted you to be a cold-blooded murderer?

It must’ve been beyond horrifying and little did she know that her assumptions were all too correct.

Barnes felt truly awful in that moment.

The mind-numbing fear that was brought on by just imagining being forced into the Chair, all of the times that it had happened after he had been pulled out of cryostasis. The nausea that suddenly churned in his gut and the acidic taste of bile in his throat. A cold sweat that broke out underneath his clothes, turning his shirt uncomfortably damp and droplets beading across the expanse of his forehead to trickle down the planes of his face. And worst of all the phantom sensation of the burning pain that had seared through his skull with every session, every pulse of electricity that erased everything he knew and loved bit by bit until he was nothing more than an empty shell.

Barnes came back to himself with the sensation of warm, gloved palms cupping his cheeks, a pair of thumbs stroking lightly over his cheekbones and the removal of the goggles from over his eyes.

“Come on back, Barnes,” Rhiannon was calling, her helmet opened once more which allowed him to see her features with a middling degree of clarity with his serum-enhanced night vision. “Come back to me.”

“I’m here,” he whispered, taking comfort in the contact along with the sight of her tanned skin and gray-green eyes. It was a soothing balm to be touched without fear of pain and he had become far too attached to Rhiannon’s brand of ramshackle therapy. “Got lost for a moment. Memories, you know?”

“Mhmm,” she murmured. “I know. I figured as much with this being such a big part of your past. Knew that you’d probably end up having some sort of reaction.”

He hummed in agreement, enjoying the moment as her touch pushed back the nausea, the fear and the pain. He leant one of his stubbled cheeks more firmly into her gloved grasp, holding his head at a slight angle to do so, in an attempt to absorb all of the comfort that she could possibly spare into his body. Or at least to garner enough to see him through until the end of the mission.

The set-backs were becoming tiresome and he didn’t want to be any more of a burden.

“Now, let’s blow this fucking thing up and get the hell out of here, yeah?” she asked softly as she began to pull her hands away. He was loath to let her pull them away and was already feeling the loss on his face, but he also knew that they needed to finish the mission before Steve caught up with them.

As Barnes pulled the goggles back over his eyes, they entered and quickly began to assemble their rough-shod collection of explosive munitions. A pair of adhesive satchel charges that he had been carrying and a trio of Fire Stars from Rhiannon’s pouches. Together the combination of high-yield explosives, thermite and the small space within the vault would turn the Chair into shrapnel and slag.

They hoped.

Halfway through the process, Rhiannon received another notification on her HUD.

“They’re in the elevator,” she reported and the two sped up their efforts. “We’ve got two minutes.”

In the end, only seconds before the supposed arrival of the Avengers into the underground base, all of the charges were synchronized to a remote detonator. A detonator which Rhiannon meaningfully placed into his metal hand with a great deal of weighty gravitas. How poetic would it be that the hand crafted by HYDRA would end up destroying one of the tools that they had developed solely for the purpose of keeping him on their leash?

It felt good.

The weight of that device in his hand felt empowering.

They left and locked the door behind them, beginning their return to the bank of elevators, but keeping their pace slow. The detonator had a thirty-meter range, so that wasn’t an issue. The main reason was that they needed to wait and see what the Avengers were going to so when they arrived. The two would need to end up skirting around them without detection, getting into the elevators once more and going down to the aircraft hangar to rendezvous with RA-5172.

Well before reaching the maximum range of the detonator they stopped as Barnes settled against the wall to wait for the perfect moment to make a break for it. But Rhiannon sped forward with a blast of her jump kit to clear the corner and pitch a pulse blade down the connecting hallway. The blade dug into the wall just above the elevators and began to send out its sonar pulses in timed waves of orange light on her HUD. She jetted back in a fraction of a second to where Barnes waited and nestled in beside him.

With their enhanced hearing they heard the metallic slide of the doors opening, soon after accompanied by the heavy clunk of Stark’s Iron Man suit and the muted thud of multiple pairs of boots. The bloom of sonar unveiled their outlines to Rhiannon, who watching as the six divided themselves into two teams of three. One trio moved towards the offices and the others was headed in their direction.

Rhiannon and Barnes began to creep forward, wary of making even the slightest sound to be heard by any equally enhanced ears or sound sensitive technology. It was unfortunate but their need for silence gave the searching teams ample time to make up the distance that separated them. As they neared the maximum range on the detonator, Rhiannon looked over at Barnes and nodded her head.

He pulled the trigger and the explosion from within the Chair’s vault rocked the Facility.

However, in an unfortunate turn, the explosion apparently made the Avengers pick up their pace.

Iron Man, the Asgardian and the archer came careening around the far corner just as the pair began their mad dash towards the elevators. The superheroes gave chase, but were outmatched in speed. But Rhiannon would bet more than anything that they had alerted the other three – Rogers, the Widow and the guy with the wings – and that group was on the way to cut them off.

And how true it was!

Nearly at the corner to the connecting hall where she had thrown the pulse blade, her expectation became reality as Captain America came charging around another corner at full speed. The shield was in the air and speeding down the hall way before Rhiannon could even manage to blink. It was aimed at her head and at the last second, she dropped onto her knees and slid underneath it with her jump kit propelling her along. Barnes pulled her back up onto her feet after the shield had flown over her head and they continued on their way down the hall.

“Buck, stop! Stop running!” Rogers shouted, his voice almost gone hoarse from the volume, as the pair made the corner only a handful of seconds before the Captain reached them. From inside her helmet, Rhiannon keyed one of the elevators to open but could feel the super-soldier on their heels getting ever so slightly closer with every passing moment. He must’ve been pushing himself to his absolute top speed to be gaining ground on them.

They needed more time to escape.

She fumbled into one of her ammo pouches and pulled out a Gravity Star, which was the most non-lethal of her current options to delay the Captain. A flick of her wrist drove the throwing star into the floor and she felt the sucking sensation at her back that meant the gravitational vortex had bloomed into existence. A yell of shock and frustration echoed behind her and she caught sight of Barnes looking backwards for a quick moment

“He’ll be fine,” she called, shoving at his shoulder to keep him moving, but suddenly found her legs immobilized and was falling forward to crack her helmeted head on the concrete floor. The brain rattling impact had her thinking disjointedly for a few moments before her mind cleared and she found herself cradled in Barnes’ arms and being carried across the threshold of the elevator. A glance downward found her legs had been bound together with some sort of wrap-around restraint.

He set her down on the floor and there was a tugging sensation at her right shoulder, where her data knife was sheathed. Rhiannon, content to sit still with her rattled brain, watched at Barnes emulated what she had done before to control the elevator. He pried off the panel with the flat of the blade, keyed the switch for the circuitry to extend, thrust the blade into the electronics and pulled the trigger to hack it. As the doors slid closed, she watched as the Avengers tried their level best to converge on the elevator, but they were too slow and the elevator was going down.

Barnes was then back at her side, falling onto his knees and even in the still dark elevator she could see the concerned expression on his handsome face.

“Are you alright, Rhia?” he asked, or rather demanded, grabbing at her helmet to make her look at him. “Does your neck hurt at all?” She shook her head in the negative, feeling incapable of speaking for the moment as the taste of blood permeated her mouth and her tongue began to throb in pain.

She must’ve bit it when she fell and hit her head.

“Good, good,” he mumbled. “Think you can turn the lights back on? Wanna see what I’m doing.”

She didn’t reply but used her helmet to turn the lights back on – not at full brightness – only at about half to prevent momentary blindness. And at the same time, she noticed that they had about three minutes until they would arrive at the aircraft hangar.

No sooner had the elevator lights come on Barnes was pulling off her helmet, gently but still urgently, and grasping her cheeks in his gloved grasp and bending his head down to look into her eyes. He was most likely looking at her pupillary response and for any other obvious signs of a concussion.

“Why aren’t you talking?” he asked worriedly when she remained silent.

She made a face before choosing to speak even as the pain in her mouth only seemed to get worse as she moved her tongue around to feel for any loose or broken teeth. “Pain,” she grumbled through a harsh grimace. “Bit my tongue, I think. Teeth seem okay, though.”

“Oh, you poor baby,” Barnes cooed mockingly after obviously deeming that she was far from seriously injured and therefore fair game for teasing remarks.

“Oh, shut it,” Rhiannon hissed out as she began to flex her legs in an attempt use her rather formidable strength to break the restraints apart. However, Stark – because who else could’ve made something like this – had apparently made them with super-soldiers in mind and she found herself unable to break free on her first try. “Help me get this off, would you? Put that big, bad arm of yours to work.”

Barnes huffed, but acquiesced to her demand.

Together the two of them managed to pry the shackle off of her legs. Barnes used his metal arm, which was far stronger than the other, to bend and pull at the restraint until with their strength combined, they loosened the clamps that locked it all together. With the screeching sound of warping steel, or whatever the hell this thing had been made of, Rhiannon snapped her legs apart and broke it into two pieces. Barnes stood as she freed herself and extended one of his hands out to pull her back to her feet.

As she bent to retrieve her helmet from the floor, Rome’s voice emanated from the internal speakers.

“Be advised, Romeo-Alpha-5172 has been engaged by hostiles.”

In an effort to respond to her Titan and fed up with the blood pooling in her mouth, Rhiannon gathered up as much as she could and spat it out onto the floor before shoving her helmet back onto her head.

“Received, Rome. We’re on our way down,” she replied. “ETA thirty seconds and the Avengers are about twenty seconds behind us.”

She looked over at Barnes who had gone to retrieve her data knife from the elevator’s control panel. He pulled the knife out, twirling it once in his hand once for no apparent reason other than dramatic flair, before offering it back to her handle first. She took it with a nod of her head, sliding it back into the sheath mounted at an angle on her right shoulder, before reaching for the submachine gun on her back. Barnes followed her example and readied the Spitfire LMG in his grasp, checking the box magazine and racking the bolt back to chamber a fresh round. It was all but guaranteed that there was a fight waiting for them below and they would definitely be shooting their way through to regroup with her Titan.

The elevator finished its descent and the doors slid open and exposed the chaos that had engulfed the hangar. Agents, soldiers, pilots and flight crews – numbering around fifty or so – scrambled all over the cavernous expanse of the large space. The hangar stood some thirty meters tall, a hundred meters wide and ran two hundred and fifty meters long towards the tarmac visible through another set of open blast doors. Two rows of various sorts of aircraft lined either wall, most in some stage of being prepared for takeoff, in addition to stacks of crates and cargo containers were scattered here and there.

It was into this pandemonium that Rhiannon and Barnes ran, following the sounds of heavy gunfire and the explosion of rockets and missiles that came from beyond the open doors. They skirted off to the side and began to eliminate anyone they came across on their mad dash towards the Titan’s rampage. Even as they ran, they witnessed as one of the jets attempting to take off crashed in flames after it took a 40-millimeter Armor Piercing, Depleted Tungsten M20 Explosive Shell to the engine block.

Not even a fraction across the way, Rhiannon chanced a glance over her shoulder to look back the way they came. A second elevator had arrived and expelled its six superpowered occupants into the fray. The only saving grace was that in the lawlessness state of the hangar, it would take the Avengers quite some time to find them amongst the crowd even though the hangar was quite well illuminated.

“Prowler 1-3 to Prowler 1-1, please advise. Enemy transport craft on route and is demanding emergency clearance for landing. Scans reveal a minimal crew complement but abnormally high thermal readings from within the cargo compartment,” Rome announced suddenly and Rhiannon was momentarily dumbstruck and stumbled just slightly before righting herself.

“Why the fuck is a cargo plane trying to land here now?” she yelled, overcome with an irrational anger which manifested itself as she ran along, snagging a grenade from Barnes’ belt and tossing it up one of the jets with an open ramp.

“They must not know that the base is under attack,” Barnes called out. “We did jam their comms.”

He had a point, but it was just so inopportune.

“Pilot Lastimosa, please respond. Should I fire on the transport?”

The abnormal temperature reading had a particularly bad feeling rising in Rhiannon’s gut. Could it be a weapon? Some sort of bomb? A gas? A biological weapon? Or it could be some sort of dangerous experiment devised by a maniacal scientist without a conscience? With HYDRA it could’ve been any or even all of those options. It was better to make the choice that would deprive the organization of anything they could possibly use to help themselves or hurt others.

“Fuck it,” she barked. “Shoot it down, Rome.”

“Acknowledged.”

And no sooner had the Titan spoken there was a noticeable surge of booming gunfire from outside and the whistle of a hefty salvo of rockets being released into the night. An explosion was heard, painfully loud even within the safety of the hangar, and soon after was accompanied by the sudden roar of fire and the droning whine of jet engines under heavy strain. And then there it was, the shattered remnants of a cargo aircraft crashing out of the sky and turning the tarmac outside into a hellscape.

Crashing through the plane’s debris came an incredibly large rectangular cargo container, propelled along by what remained of the plane’s forward momentum and crashing heedlessly into the hangar. Both HYDRA forces and the smaller aircraft that were caught in its path were crushed beneath its immense weight, turned to nothing more than smears of red and metal scraps in its wake.

Barnes and Rhiannon slid into cover along the closest wall as the container continued its uncontrolled approach. They watched with wide eyes as it finally rolled once, twice, three times and then screeched to a stop in a shower of sparks. It had made it nearly half of the way down the full length of the hangar. The sheet metal of the container was bent and mangled into a geometric nightmare and on a curious whim, Rhiannon activated the infrared lens for her visor to see if the heat was still present.

Back-lit by the fires outside, her world turned into a riot of vibrant colors. Cool purples turned to warmer reds to orange to yellow – growing ever brighter as the temperature rose and rose and rose.

But the container…

It was the palest of yellows with a center of blindingly white. The hottest gradient of color to be found on the infrared spectrum for any temperature beyond a certain range. But why the hell was it so hot? Not even the crash and its tumble into the hangar could’ve caused such a high amount of heat and Rome had said that it had been damn hot before they’d even shot the plane down.

Rhiannon looked on, even as the both of them prepared to move out from their cover to continue out towards the tarmac, she noticed the slightest bit of movement from within the thermal display. The white at the center was fluctuating in shape in an arrhythmic beat. Suddenly whiter and then yellow-ish and then back to white. A slow dawning of realization came to her as she continued watching, reaching out towards Barnes and gripping at the back of his tactical vest and tugging him towards her urgently.

One two. One two. One two three.

One two. One two. One two three.

It was a heartbeat.

A heartbeat that was getting faster and faster with every passing second.

The container had something in it.

Something alive and very, very large.

“Barnes, we gotta back up,” she urged, switching her visor back to normal. “We need to regroup with Steve and the Avengers right fucking now.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” he asked, immediately concerned about something that had so easily unnerved the usually unflappable woman from the future and another planet.

But his question was rendered obsolete only a few short seconds later when the container exploded from the inside out sending warped sheet metal flying in every direction. The two ducked back down behind their cover as the huge chunks of shrapnel flew overhead. A second later they both peered over the edge and laid eyes on the container’s contents.

It was some sort of monstrous animal. A hideous amalgamation of feline and serpent that was as large – both length and height – as a full-sized bus. Gold and black scales covered the dorsal side, while the underbelly looked to be some sort of grayish-brown colored leathery hide. Two thick forelimbs, bulging with corded brawn, supported a heavy cat-like head filled to the brim with ivory colored fangs and brilliantly green eyes that almost seemed to glow. A purple tongue, bifurcated like a snake’s, flickered out to taste the air that was thick with smoke and the fumes of spilled and burning jet fuel. The rest of this monster’s body was serpentine with no other additional limbs. It was just a long and sinuous body, just as thickly muscled, that ended with a tail tipped with spikes that looked almost like bone.

Barnes understood why Rhiannon had been so rattled.

That enormous beast was well beyond their current capabilities. They were both running low on ammo, with a magazine or two to spare between them and only a handful of grenades left. They needed help and they needed it now, and the Avengers were the only help that could turn to in that moment. Even RA-5172 would be no help for the time being because there was still a hell of a gunfight happening out on the tarmac.

The beast, whatever it was, shrieked and the pair made a break for it. They didn’t even bother to watch as those few HYDRA goons too close to the thing found themselves being pounced upon and devoured.

They sprinted pell-mell back the way they had come, keeping their eyes peeled for the team of six internationally famous superheroes. They couldn’t have gotten too far since it had only been a minute or two since they’d arrived in the elevator.

Rhiannon caught sight of a distinctive shield as it reflected a bit of light in her direction and quickly adjusted course to run straight towards it, Barnes once again following hot on her heels. Their approach was rapid. So rapid in fact that the Avengers were unable to even react before the two were skidding to a stop in front of the superheroes. Weapons were grabbed and pointed in their direction, but the two held up their hands in the universal sign of surrender and please, for the love of God, don’t shoot us.

“We’ve got a big fucking problem,” Rhiannon gasped, only slightly out of breath from the high-speed sprint back towards the elevators and the sudden surge of adrenaline in her blood.

“Yes, we can see that,” the Black Widow barked back, looking both unimpressed with her statement of the obvious and a bit on the nervous side.

The nervousness was understandable, at least, as the panicked gunfire, the screams of the dying and the monster’s roars and yowls echoed from the far end of the hangar.

“A Tatzelwurm? Here on Midgard? How can this be?” Thor asked himself, his eyes wide with equal parts fear and wonder as he looked upon such a rare and familiar beast. A creature that should have been living peacefully in its natural habitat on a world very, very far from here. He had only seen two before and had never dared to engage them in combat, even back in his foolhardy youth.

It would prove to be a formidable foe, even against the might of the Avengers.

“It was on a HYDRA cargo plane that was going to land here,” Rhiannon explained. “Got some abnormal thermal readings from inside it. Thought it as a weapon. Ordered the plane shot down. My bad.”

“Your bad? Your bad?” the Falcon asked loudly as a rage took over him. “You just shot down a plane and unleashed a monster straight out of some sort of fucked up nightmare…”

“Hey!” Barnes barked suddenly, taking a menacing step forward in the hot-blooded defense of one of the few people he cared about in the world. “Lay off, pal! It’s not like she could have known that that thing was in the plane when she gave the order to bring it down.”

“Oh, really? With tech like hers?” Stark chimed in, his suit looking noticeable worse for wear than the last time they had seen it. “I have a hard time believing that, Barnes.”

“I didn’t! I swear…”

“Enough!” Steve barked to interrupt their squabbling. “This isn’t the time for this. Thor, you seem to know what this thing is. What can you tell us about it?”

“This is a Tatzelwurm, my friends and allies. A mighty beast from the realm of Vanaheim,” the Asgardian Prince explained as the eight of them watched the creature’s wanton rampage. “They are mostly cave dwelling creatures that only venture out from their dens to hunt, but I have never seen one quite so large as this one. The hide is thick and only the sharpest of blades may pierce it and the scales along it’s back are nearly impenetrable. But it’s greatest weapons, beyond its claws and fangs, are its poisonous breath and the barbs upon its tail that carrying a potent paralyzing venom.”

As Thor described the monster, Rhiannon found her brain racing through an insane amount of possible strategies that might be successful against it. Ultimately, she had a strong feeling that her Titan would end up being necessary to win against the enormous mythological beast. A plan slotted into place as she studied the hangar’s overall layout and their current combined armaments and physical condition.

It was a dumb plan.

A really, really stupid plan.

“I have an idea,” she said as soon as Thor finished with his speech. “It’s a dumb one, but it might just work.” They all turned to look at her but she didn’t even attempt to describe it in any amount of detail. There wasn’t enough time to lay it all out and there were so many moving parts she had to consider…

No, she just needed to go and hope for the best.

“Shouldn’t we call for Banner. I’m sure the Hulk could…” Barton began to suggest, but was cut off.

“No. There’s no time for that,” Rhiannon barked and she grabbed at Barnes, pulling the bandolier holding his remaining grenades over his head and slinging it over her own shoulder.

“Lastimosa…” Steve began, but was interrupted.

“Rhia, what’re you…” Barnes protested, reaching out in an attempt to pull her back.

“Spread out. Distract it. Ranged attacks only. If it gets too close, fall back and regroup,” she ordered abruptly, meeting all of their eyes but lingering for longer on the differing blues of Rogers and Barnes, before she took off like a shot.

She pulled an auto-injection syringe out from another one of her pouches and stabbed it roughly into her own neck as she ran. The syringe pumped her system full of top-grade stimulants, specially designed for Pilots of her caliber to push them far beyond their limits. Her jump kit burned with blue and hot as it ramped up towards its maximum level of thrust and the world began to slow around her.

But she knew – logically – in the depths of her mind that it was in fact the exact opposite.

The world hadn’t slowed. She had sped up. Up and up to well beyond her usual physical limits. Her HUD at that moment in time said that she running at nearly 65 KPH. Not her fastest ever, not by a long shot, but hopefully it would be enough to get the job done. The usage of Stim was necessary for her plan to have a chance at paying off.

She somehow knew that the Tatzelwurm was going to be fucking fast as well as strong.

“Rome, rendezvous on me now with Sword Core active,” she ordered over the comm, not caring that she might be pulling her Titan away from a fight. She was going to need his superior firepower.

“Received. On route.”

Rhiannon jumped up onto an aircraft, one of the few that remained in mostly one piece, and then grappled onto the wall and ran along it to cover the distance between her and the monster. In the meantime, the Avengers began their attack just as she had ordered. They unleashed a barrage of bullets, arrows, lasers and lightning on the enormous creature, which shrieked and writhed under the onslaught, but it seemed to reacting in irritation rather than any actual pain.

She was closing fast and she readied the string of grenades in her grasp, shifting it down from her shoulder to be held in her free hand, flaring her thrusters for a jump off of the wall to land on another jet. She bounced off the surface, leaping into the air once more and sent her grapple at the rather unfortunate HYDRA goon she’d set her sights on. She landed right on top of him, wrapping her legs around her neck and jerking her hips to the side to snap his neck with an audible crunch. Soon afterwards, she had him trussed up with the bandolier of grenades and ready to be served.

The perfect treat for a big, bad monster.

She pulled the pin on one of the grenades, starting the four second countdown in her mind, as she blasted out of cover into the direct path of the Tatzelwurm. It saw her, ignoring everything else in favor of more entertaining looking prey, and spun on its serpentine body.

“Rhia!” Barnes screamed in panic over the radio and she heard her last name echoed by some of the Avengers, who seemed equally concerned with her current location. But she ignored them all, sinking into a crouch and waiting for the opportune moment.

The monster lunged forward, mouth gaping open and she struck. With all of her enhanced strength, she wrenched on the grapple line still attached to the dead man and swung the grenade-laden body straight down the beast’s gullet. At the last second, she flared her jump kit and double-jumped away, but felt the faintest flare of intense pressure in the lower right-hand quadrant of her abdomen. With no time to investigate the odd sensation – dulled as it was by her liberal usage of Stim – she landed over a dozen meters away and began to sprint around towards its tail and the tarmac. In the distance and closing fast, she could see Rome’s distinctive mechanical body emerging out from the darkness.

The Tatzelwurm, spun around as well and began to give chase, before convulsing all of a sudden as the grenades detonated. A spray of ink-like blood surged out of the creature’s open mouth, chased after by crackling tongues of blue electricity, as both Fragmentation and Arc Grenades went off inside its body. But the grenades alone were not capable of downing the beast. That would’ve been too easy.

Rhiannon took off as the Tatzelwurm shrieked in pain and rage, charging after her in a bloodied frenzy and seeking retribution on the one who had hurt it so grievously.

But it was too late and Rome was within her range.

His front panels popped open as she pinged the embarkation command, grappling forwards and propelling herself along at the max thrust from her jump kit. She slammed into the pilot’s seat with the hatch slamming closed behind her with a hiss before she had even turned around.

“Phase Dash, now!” she commanded vocally, even as she felt the cold rush of sensation in her brain as the neural link between her and her Titan snapped into place. The link would ensure that she no longer had to issue verbal orders. RA-5172 and her would become two minds crammed into one body, acting in perfect synchronization.

The world around her faded into a bizarre alternate dimension made up of monochrome shades, blurred shapes and a distinct lack of sound. A place where no other living beings existed except for them. But Phase Dash was geared specifically for tactical advances or retreats almost exclusively. A damn fine way to jump yourself into a fight while getting the drop on your opponent or a way to get out of dodge when things got a bit too dicey.

They emerged from the Dash only a second or two later, the world reasserting itself in a blaze of color, light and sound. They spun around on their feet to face the Tatzelwurm, which had passed through their previous location while they had vanished into the alternate dimension. Now Rhiannon and her Titan were placed firmly between the monster and her allies, Barnes and the Avengers.

Just where they wanted to be.

Rome deployed a pale greenish-blue particle wall onto the ground in front of them, an upscaled version of the A-Wall she had utilized earlier on in the battle, and brought the 40mm Tracker Cannon up to bear on their target. They unloaded a full magazine of APDT shells into the beast, watching in mute horror as the majority of the armor-piercing incendiary shells did little to no effect on the creature. If anything, the Tatzelwurm only seemed to flinch with every shot, crying and shrieking as the shells made contact with its head, neck and chest.

They were out of missiles and soon the 40mm ran dry as well, the twelve-round magazine dropped onto the concrete floor of the hangar with a sharp clang. It was left abandoned as they were forced to bring the massive gun up to fend off the Tatzelwurm’s body as it pounced onto them, digging its claws into the chassis paneling and biting down on the gun’s barrel. Warnings blared as the poisonous breath began to corrode the paint on the armor and the barbed tail wrapped around their body and began to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

The Titan and mythological beast wrestled back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, until the Multi-Core System – a staple for the Vanguard-class – finished transitioning into one more suitable for close-quarters combat.

She called up a Flame Shield, letting go of the Tracker Cannon with one hand to shove the wall of fire into the monster’s face. Scales, skin and the first layers of muscle beneath it were seared away after a few moments of forced application. The creature disengaged, leaping backward by using its tail like a coiled spring, and they dropped their gun in favor of sending a line of liquid thermite after it with a slam of their metal fist on the ground. It writhed on the ground as the thermite struck true and burned across the lower half of its body.

Rhiannon knew an opportunity when she saw one.

The sword mounted to their back swung out, one of the newer and slimmer designs by Burrell Defense meant for the Ronin Prime Titan, and into their grasp. Electricity began to crackle down the katana-like blade and while the Tatzelwurm was distracted they charged forward at a full mechanized sprint. The upper right side of the thoracic cavity had been damaged by the Flame Shield, exposing a decently sized chunk of raw musculature that had been hidden away under that durable hide.

That was their target.

The monster spun around upon hearing their approach and leapt into the air to meet them, slavering in rage and pain and hunger. The electrified sword was brought up and driven point-first into the body by the force of their combined momentum until it burst out through the creature’s back in a spray of black blood. The animal keened and shrieked in pain, wriggling and lashing out in its death throes, but they twisted the sword and increased the voltage until the body finally went limp. The sword slid out from the body with a sickening squelch as they spun around to face their audience, like a thespian about to bow to the sound of thunderous applause after a spectacular performance on the stage.

The hatch popped open as she stood up and stepped out, but a sudden wave a fatigue had her wobbling on her feet before she could make the jump down to the ground. Rome said something but it sounded muffled to her ears. Like she was underwater. A searing pain suddenly surge up from the lower region of her abdomen. She looked down, only now beginning to feel an uncomfortably warm and wet sensation on her skin, and she brought her glove up to touch the area in question.

The glove came away slick with her blood.

She was bleeding.

She had gotten shot.

Picking her head up she caught sight of Barnes dashing across the hangar with Captain Rogers following close behind. Both of them at a full sprint, which was an impressive sight to say the least. The rest of the Avengers followed as well, at a slightly slower pace, but it was really that first man that she was by far the happiest to see coming her way.

God, she cared about him far more than she ought to.

She smiled underneath her helmet, feeling absolutely exhausted all of a sudden. But she supposed that blood loss compounded with the crash after a heavy dose of Stim would do that.

But Barnes was okay, so that meant everything was alright.

Her vision wavered, blurring at the edges while dark spots appeared in her field of view, and then she lost her balance, plunging head first out of the cockpit and blacking out before she hit the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn! I beat my record again for this story. 8k this time and presented for your reading pleasure. The fighting in the HYDRA Base is now done, just a bit of clean up before we move on to the next stage. Next chapter will most likely be out on the weekend. That's kind of the updating schedule I'm falling into for now. Updates on Tuesday / Wednesday and Saturday / Sunday, provided nothing untoward happens to delay my posting. So join me next time when we... Find out how serious Rhiannon's gunshot wound is. How Bucky feels about his best gal being hurt while on a mission that was only for his benefit. How poor, confused Steve feels about the obviously close relationship between Rhia and Bucky. Finally introducing Bruce... [I swear I did not mean to leave him out of everything this much, but the Hulk just did not fit into how I wanted this part to play out.] And just how the hell I'm going to get Rhia, Barnes and RA-5172 to go and live with the Avengers so we can get this damn show on the road already!
> 
> Also, fun fact, Tatzelwurms are very much a real mythological creature. Pretty interesting really, though obvious I've made this one into the King of All Tatzelwurms. This one in particular I've based off of some of the concept art done for the God of War (2018) video game, which is set in a Norse Mythology themed setting.


	9. Chapter 9

**0145 HOURS | NOVEMBER 09, 2014 | BELASICA MOUNTAIN RANGE, BULGARIA-GREECE BORDER**

When Lastimosa had raced away, laden with a belt of grenades and leaving them with only the vaguest hint of a plan, Steve felt all of his anger at the woman being shoved into the farthest corner of his mind.

In an instant all of that rage had turned to blind panic as Bucky had immediately made to follow after her, regardless of the implied message that he was to stay behind. To stay back and help the team in their efforts to distract the massive monster on a rampage at the far side of the hangar. Steve had never so quickly lashed out with a hand and yanked the darker haired man backwards, flinching as the metal arm had been swung almost instantly at his head.

“Lemme go, Steve,” Buck had hissed, struggling in his grasp to the point where Steve almost believed he would have to fully restrain him. “She’s gunna get herself killed!”

“You rush in there blind, Buck, and the only person you’re gunna get killed is yourself!” he had shouted back. “I’ve lost you once already; I’m not willing to do it a second time!”

But Lastimosa had then gone above and beyond their expectations of her capabilities, proving Bucky’s fears irrational. The woman had raced across the hangar, using the jetpack and her enhanced physiology to bound along at a speed that Steve was certain that even he could never have reached. To provide the distraction that she had requested, the Avengers rallied and unleashed what limited firepower they had on the Tatzelwurm.

Steve, who did not carry a sidearm or any other sort of gun in most cases, found himself almost left out of the fight due to his reliance on close-quarters combat. He’d only ever needed his shield and his fists to win. That was until Bucky had shoved the light machine gun into his hands without a single word shared and switched over to use the longer rifle to take precise shots at the monster. Clint used his arrows, Natasha and Sam bullets, Tony fired the remnants of his suit’s weapons and Thor summoned lightning and sent his hammer soaring towards the Tatzelwurm.

The distraction proved effective enough, compounded by the panicked gunfire of HYDRA survivors, and almost entirely masked Lastimosa’s approach. Steve’s heart had frozen for a moment when the strange woman had so boldly placed herself directly into the beast’s line of sight. She had even drawn its gaze on purpose.

Bucky’s shout of horror, just a single call of her first name, had rung painfully in Steve’s ears.

She had dodged the monster’s lunge after tossing a grenade-laden body into its maw, crippling the beast but failing to kill it with her rather ingenious strategy. If the outside was nearly invulnerable, then the place to attack was from the inside-out. It was the same sort of idea that Stark had utilized during the Battle of New York on one of the Chitauri Leviathans.

And then a mechanical giant – a robot of all things – had arrived and Lastimosa had leapt inside.

It was like watching a version of the Hulk that was wearing an Iron Man suit.

The sort of grandiose fight that would have been more suitable to be displayed on the silver screen. The quintessential battle between a giant robot and a giant monster. The deafening roars, shrieks and hisses of the Tatzelwurm. The thunderous boom of the robot’s enormous gun. The squeal of metal put under strain as the two grappled with each other. The smell of seared meat and the cries of the beast as it was finally injured. And then that brutal execution with a sword as long as a truck that finished the fight.

No sooner was the Tatzelwurm dead, Bucky was breaking out of their scattered firing line and jogging across the hangar. The robot spun around, the front panels opening with Lastimosa standing there in her moment of victory. But then she stumbled forward, having to catch herself on the edges of the cockpit to keep herself from falling out.

“Pilot, you have sustained a gunshot wound to the lower abdomen,” the robot declared in a deeply masculine and mechanical voice. A message that was audible to all of those in the immediate vicinity. “Please access the medical kit or seek immediate attention.”

Steve had not expected it to be capable of speech, but the grim announcement had Bucky breaking into a dead sprint and Steve followed. What remained of his anger towards the woman was for entirely personal reasons and did not in any way mean that he wished her injured or dead. She was by all definitions an ally of the Avengers, regardless of any discomfiture he felt about the obviously close relationship she seemed to share with Bucky.

Lastimosa brought a hand up to her gut, pulling it away to examine before picking her head back up to look in their direction. There was only thirty or so feet left until they would arrive at her side – a distance they would cross in less than a few seconds – but her adrenaline and stamina seemed to have finally run out. Her knees gave out and she tumbled out of the chassis on a collision course with the concrete.

Bucky lunged those last few feet with his arms outstretched, taking the full brunt of her weight as it fell from nearly two stories in the air and sinking down onto his knees to absorb the impact.

“Why didn’t you catch her, Rome!” Buck demanded angrily, glaring up at the robot even as he rolled her out onto the floor after removing the larger guns attached to her back. He began to unbuckle the myriad of harness straps that wrapped around her body, while the robot’s hatch closed and a singular optic, glowing with blue light, looked down at its large metallic hands with what seemed like contrition.

“My hands sustained damage in the battle,” it – or maybe he – said. “I feared causing further damage.”

Buck didn’t reply, but seemed dissatisfied with the answer by the fearsome scowl on his face. Steve hovered nearby, unsure if his help would be welcomed. All of the straps seemed to be a challenge to disconnect, crisscrossing all over her body. Some belonged to the jetpack, others to the body armor and the rest for the ammunition pouches. Underneath it all, the bloodstain, which was only visible against the matte black fabric by the wet shine it made under the lights, had spread across Lastimosa’s right hip and was spreading its way down her thigh.

“You going to keep standing there, punk, or are you gunna fucking get down here and help?”

His head snapped up at Bucky’s barked question, looking up from the unconscious woman and into the steely eyes of his former-lover. The man was pulling a pair of incredibly small earbuds out of his ears and shoving them into one of the pouches on his belt before going back to work on Lastimosa. Steve found himself nodding and sinking down on the other side of the woman, removing his helmet, and starting in on the straps as well. He looked up when the team caught up, all looking to some degree concerned for the woman’s well-being. Steve sent them off with orders to finish sweeping the base for any remaining HYDRA personnel and to have Banner bring the Quinjet around.

Bucky pulled the pouch harness away first and Steve was well on the way to getting some of the body armor off. Just over a minute since they’d begun to work on Lastimosa, the jetpack was placed off to the side and Bucky was hastily unzipping the full-body jumpsuit from the collar underneath her chin. They each took a side of the suit once it was unzipped and pulled it open as wide as they could to get a look at the wound to figure out what needed to be done.

The sudden reveal of a stripe of bronzed skin, finely toned with musculature and dampened with sweat, had Steve feeling a modicum of discomfort. It was wholly the wrong time to be admitting to himself that Lastimosa was proving to be an incredibly attractive and strong woman. His type, if he had to narrow it down. Just like Peggy had been back in the day. It was a reaction that was made all the worse because Bucky had taken the time to remove her helmet and Steve could finally see her face after all this time.

God, she was gorgeous…

Absentmindedly, he found himself wondering what color her eyes were.

Either from the jostling they had done while removing her gear or some other factor, Lastimosa took that moment – with the both of them hovering over her to look at the wound – to regain consciousness. She hissed, the muscles across her abdomen flexing involuntarily, which had her releasing a rough exhale of air as the movement aggravated the oozing hole just above her hip. Her eyes blinked open and Steve glanced upwards to meet her pain-glazed stare with unmasked concern, while Bucky began to press a thick square of gauze against the entry wound.

His mind unhelpfully took note – in an answer to his previous ponderings – that her eyes were a very lovely shade of grayish-green with the slightest starburst of blue around her pain-dilated pupils.

“Mmm… Fuck,” she cursed and groaned in pain as the gauze was pressed down. She blinked her eyes rapidly for a second to clear her vision and was clearly trying to hold herself as still as possible to prevent unnecessary pain. She lifted her head ever so slightly to look down at the two of them properly. “Must be dead,” she said, her words slow and slurred, but understandable.

“What?” the two men asked at the same time.

She chuckled once, just a single huff of breath, before stopping because laughter obviously caused pain. “Must be dead ‘cause there’s a pair of pretty boys taking my clothes off.” She trailed off for a moment, letting her head fall back to the ground as her neck grew tired from the strain. “Never had two before.”

Steve’s face felt hot and he knew that a bright flush had bloomed on his neck, across his cheeks and all the way up and into the edges of his ears. And yet, Bucky looked mostly unaffected by Lastimosa’s blatant flirtation. That was except for the smallest hint of a smile curling at the corner of his lips and one of his eyebrows raising up above the other.

“Really? What a shame,” he drawled, that Brooklyn accent of his that had been nearly gone surging back to the fore. “Pretty thing like you not having a proper pair of fellas to dote on her. Such a shame, baby-doll. You’re missing out.”

Steve honestly couldn’t determine whether or not this was a joke or a serious statement. Such a thing back in their era would’ve been seen as the height of sinning. Three people together? It was bad enough what they would say or do to two men or two women being found together in such a way. Everything had to be kept behind closed doors and at the highest levels of secrecy. Getting sent home with a Blue Ticket had been the least of their worries while out on the frontlines of the European Theater.

He knew that things had changed in the 21st Century, but Steve still had all of his instinctual old fears.

Lastimosa frowned, obviously being aware of something that Steve had missed out on, and seemed to have returned to a higher level of consciousness and coherency as she replied, “Don’t be such an ass, Barnes. You’ve ruined the whole fantasy by opening your mouth and making the poor Captain blush like a schoolgirl.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped over to meet Steve’s own and his lips curled upwards – lips that Steve had once known with an abundance of familiarity – into a smug smirk.

“That’s not hard to do. He’s always been easy to fluster,” he said before he turned back to her, all the while still holding steady pressure on the wound. “But now that you’re conscious it’s time for questions. This through and through or is the slug still in?”

“Still in,” she answered honestly. “Don’t feel an exit wound and my back’s dry.”

“There are a pair of medical-grade forceps with the med-kit, Sergeant Barnes,” the robot prompted and the two men craned their heads to look up at the mechanical giant they had nearly forgotten was there. “As well as additional gauze, bandages and supplies for suturing the wound, should it prove necessary.”

“Good. Steve, go and get it.”

As he stood the robot crouched and brought one of its large four-fingered hands up to form a step.

“Hello, Captain Rogers. I am RA-5172, a Vanguard-class Titan of the Frontier Militia SRS and linked to Pilot Lastimosa,” it introduced, even as the front panels swung open. Inside of the small cockpit, there was a single seat surrounded by a vast array of switches, buttons, cables and other sorts of technology that Steve couldn’t have even begun to describe. “The medical kit will be found on the left-hand side of the pilot’s chair.”

“My left or yours?”

“Yours.”

Steve leapt up into the small space, his eyes catching on a bright yellow and black striped handle labeled CAUTION CAUTION that would’ve sat directly between Lastimosa’s legs. He’d seen something similar in the cockpits of modern fighter jets. Was that for ejecting? He briefly considered the implications that the combat was so intense wherever Lastimosa had come from that she would ever need to eject from her twenty-foot mechanical death machine.

It was a sobering thought.

He leant into the cockpit, looking over one of the chair’s button-laden armrests, and saw a mossy green bag embroidered with a familiar red medical cross. He grabbed it and jumped back down to the ground, opening the med-kit as he returned to Lastimosa’s side. She had her eyes closed again, but seemed to just be resting rather than unconscious once more, while Bucky continued to hold pressure. Steve poked through the bag, shifting the supplies over until he found a smaller case that contained a limited array of surgical instruments and grabbed the longest pair of needle-nose forceps he saw.

“Got them,” he said, brandishing the slim tool. “Want me to do it?”

“You still remember how?”

“Oh, don’t argue about it,” Lastimosa said, with her eyes still closed but a scowl caused by the prospect of the pain from the extraction starting to form on her face. “Just get the bullet out already so I can dose up with Stim and heal.”

“You don’t need it stitched?” Steve asked.

“Nah. Just have to bandage the entry wound. Small shot of Pilot Stim, dosage depending on how deep the hole is, and it’ll be healed over in like five to ten minutes,” she explained. “S’why I was movin’ so fast before. All of me super-charged to the max. Very useful.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

“So, Barnes move that gauze and let Rogers go spelunking.”

“Painkillers?” Steve asked again, worried about causing her any unnecessary pain.

“What part of ‘get the bullet out’ do you not understand?” she hissed, eyes opening to slits so she could glare down at him. “Sensation is deadened from the Stim withdrawal. A specifically designed side-effect for times like right now when you suddenly find yourself shot full of holes but needing to keep on going. But it only lasts for so long so get moving, Captain, before I have Barnes do it instead.”

He sighed heavily but complied with her demands and went looking for the bullet after Bucky had removed the gauze and wiped both the area and forceps down with disinfectant. She held remarkably still while he was poking around her insides with the tip of the forceps, only hissing and groaning a couple of times until he finally pulled the mangled slug from her body. Fresh blood seeped from the aggravated wound and Bucky was quick to press down with a fresh square of gauze.

“How deep was it?” Bucky asked.

“Only two inches, I think. Maybe a little less,” Steve answered, looking down at the mushroomed lump of metal in his gloved palm. “Would’ve thought a 5.56 would’ve gone way deeper.”

“I’m built tough, Rogers,” Lastimosa hissed out. “Two inches, okay… That’s five centimeters. So, two points five cee-cees of Stim. Syringes are on my ammo belt in the pouch with the lightning bolt on it.”

“Lightning bolt?” Steve asked in confusion, but also as a means of keeping her distracted as Bucky leant over and began to rummage with his free hand through her discarded equipment. Steve also took the time to pull out more gauze and a roll of tape from the medical kit so that they could bandage it soon.

“Stim makes me lightning fast, Captain. Get it?”

He found himself laughing. A short and entirely unexpected burst of uncontrolled snickering, which earned him a bright smile from her.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Rhia. You’re really not that funny,” Buck deadpanned as he returned with a slim cylinder in his grasp. An auto-injection syringe that looked astounding similar to the EpiPens that those who had severe allergies carried on their person in case of emergencies.

“I’m fuckin’ hilarious, Barnes. A couple more months of healing in that blender-brain of yours and you’ll be rolling on the floor from all my jokes. Rome, back me up.”

“Pilot Lastimosa has always been regarded as a humorous individual by members of the Militia.”

“See? Told ya.”

“Sure, doll. Whatever you say,” he said and Steve was astounded that the man he had last seen in Washington D.C. had become the man in front of him now. But even Steve knew that this was not yet the Bucky he had once known. “The dial on the end for setting the dosage?”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you need it to be injected?”

“Right next to the wound,” she said. “Then just slap a patch on me and I’ll be good to go.”

Bucky did just so, uncapping the syringe and placing the needle down at the edge of the gauze before depressed the trigger. Lastimosa’s body seized just slightly with the injection before she relaxed out and let out a gusty sigh. They bandaged the wound while she basked in the obvious relief that the dose of Stim had given her. When they were done Bucky fixed her jumpsuit and zipped it back up to her neck.

Steve took to repacking the medical bag as a heavy silence fell over their little gathering of three people and one giant, looming robot. Bucky seemed unaware of what to do with his hands, resting them on his thighs, while not making eye contact with anyone. But Lastimosa bore an expression of intense thought. Her lips were pulled down into the slightest of frowns and a furrow had formed between her brows.

“So, there’s a talk that needs to be had here,” she began and broke the silence, looking between the two of them pointedly as she levered herself up slowly from the floor into a seated position. “And I have no place being in the middle of it. Barnes, you good to do this or do you need some time?”

Bucky didn’t reply, but gave a sharp nod of his head. She sighed, seeming displeased with the answer but willing enough to accept it as good enough. Her gaze – those previously soft gray-greens turned to an almost gemstone-like hardness – then settled on Steve.

She looked at him for several long moments. Assessing and almost like she was weighing his worth.

“You will go easy on him, Rogers,” she said, but he knew all the same that she was issuing him orders. She seemed complete unconcerned that the object of their conversation was seated less than a foot away and could hear them both perfectly. “There’s a hell of a lot going on inside his head that you don’t understand and I won’t have you ruining all the progress that I’ve made with him. You talk slow. You do not raise your voice. If he looks uncomfortable you drop the subject then and there. If he seems to zone out or dissociates completely you keep your distance and call for me. Do I make myself clear?”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, about to say that he wasn’t an idiot and he knew what Bucky had gone through under the yoke of HYDRA. He’d read the KGB file, after all. But her dangerous tone and one hundred percent serious expression stopped him dead in his tracks. Froze him in place before he could shove him foot into his own mouth and make a fool of himself in front of a woman who had clearly come to care for Bucky a great deal.

“Have I made myself clear, Rogers?”

“Crystal, ma’am.”

“Good,” she said, looking back towards Bucky. “You need me, Barnes, you call me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright, you boys go on ahead and play nice now. I’m just going to sit here for a bit and then get my gear back on,” she said, waving them away with her hands in a clear dismissal. Steve stood and began to walk away. Not too far. But far enough that Lastimosa would most likely be unable to hear their words. He realized then that he also didn’t know how enhanced her sense of hearing might’ve be, but she seemed to be the type that wouldn’t actively listen in on a clearly private conversation.

He heard Bucky trailing after him but keeping himself at a healthy distance, maybe ten feet or so. At a location that was about as good as it was going to get, Steve turned around and faced his former-lover. They stared at one another for a tense moment, neither seeming to know what to say to the other, before Steve finally mustered the courage to speak first.

“So, how’ve you been doing? You know, since Washington?”

“Not great.” Bucky wasn’t even looking at him as he replied, “But better recently.”

“Better?” Steve asked.

“Yeah... Rhia’s doing,” Bucky admitted and a soft smile pulled at his lips.

“Oh...” Steve said, feeling a weight settle in his gut that he didn’t want to acknowledge at all. A fear that the love he hoped to rekindle with this man was already out of his reach. “That’s good, I guess. And, you know, I’m glad that you at least know who I am this time around.”

“Just happy I didn’t try to kill you for a third time.”

“Buck, I don’t hold what happened in DC against you…” he began to say, but was interrupted as gray-blue eyes gone steely with anger snapped towards him.

“You should,” he snapped, accompanied by nearly bared teeth.

Like a dog snarling at a threat.

“Well, I don’t” Steve said earnestly. “It wasn’t your fault. And you pulled me from the water.”

“I don’t know why I did that.” Bucky looked away again, shifting his eyes off to the side and then down to the concrete of the hangar’s floor.

“Yeah, you do.”

“I’m not him,” Bucky said, like it was a guilty admission.

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I’m not your James Barnes,” he explained, like he was talking to small child that wasn’t getting a very simple concept. “I’m not Bucky. Not really. That man died when he fell from that train.”

“I know,” Steve admitted, feeling a resurgence of all the pain and grief at the memory. “That’s okay.”

“Okay?” Buck questioned in horror. “It’s okay! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s okay because I understand. I’m not the same Steve Rogers that went into the ice. Shit happened and I’m different now too. So, I don’t care if you’re not the exact same Bucky that I used to know. I’m just glad that you’re still alive and I’ll take you however I can get you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“You can’t mean that,” he blustered, looking prepared to run away at the slightest provocation. “You know what I’ve done. Who I became? What they turned me into?”

“Yes, but I still don’t care,” Steve said, but remembered Lastimosa’s veiled threats and kept himself still, fighting against the urge to rush in and swaddle Bucky into a comforting embrace.

“You don’t care that I’ve murdered dozens of people for HYDRA? That I’m an internationally wanted criminal with decades of blood on my hands? How can you even say that?”

“I can because I love you.”

“No.”

“Yes, I do. That’s never changed, Buck. Not in sixty-nine years.”

“No, no,” he said in vehement denial. “No, you don’t. You can love me. Not anymore.”

“Bucky, please. Just come back with me,” Steve pleaded, his hands twitching at his side with the desire to reach out. To just touch him. Just this once. “I can keep you safe. Can get you help to deal with your memories. Get your name cleared of those charges. You can have a life again if you want it.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

“Yes, you do,” Steve urged. “You were forced to kill against your will. That does not make you a criminal. It makes you a victim.”

There was a lull in the conversation and Bucky seemed to be digesting what Steve had said. Giving it serious consideration, which was all that Steve could ultimately hope for. It was wonderful enough to even be having a conversation with him again. To hear his voice. To see him with his own eyes, not just the not-quite-accurate images that were presented to Steve in his dreams and memories.

“If I say yes, can Rhia come too?” Bucky asked as he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “She’s in some trouble and needs help. And… I need her. She keeps me calm, somehow. I used to switch back to being the Soldier all the time when I was on the run. Triggered by the slightest thing and I’d be an inch away from slaughtering civilians in cold-blood. But these past six weeks? Not a single relapse.”

“Of course, she can come.” It hurt Steve to say it, while his heart wanted his former-lover all to himself. But if Lastimosa was that much of a comfort to Bucky, if she had truly done so much to help him, Steve could not deny the request. “And the robot too. Anything you need, Buck.”

He had a feeling that if he had selfishly said no that Bucky would’ve turned his back on him.

Would’ve then and there chosen Lastimosa over him.

“Titan,” Bucky said abruptly and Steve was so lost in his own thoughts that he had forgotten the vein of their conversation for a moment.

“What?” he asked.

“RA-5172. Rome. The robot,” Bucky explained. “They’re called Titans where Rhia is from.”

“Oh… Okay then. Still, they’re welcome to come with you. I just – I just want you safe.”

“Let me…” He looked over his shoulder at the woman, who had almost fully reassembled her equipment onto her body and seemed to be talking with her mechanical companion. “Let me go and talk to Rhia.”

“Sure, Buck,” Steve agreed. “Just let me know what you decide.”

Bucky was quick to turn away and rush back towards Lastimosa and the robot, leaving Steve to stand there and reflect. He would consider that to have been a successful talk, despite how painful it had felt to him at times. It could have been far worse, he knew, and it was likely only due to the warnings he had received beforehand from Lastimosa. His attention was drawn away, towards the tarmac, as the Quinjet – a new model that had been designed by Stark – landed just outside.

The ramp came down as the other five members of the team, who had been sweeping the hangar for survivors, converged and were joined by Bruce Banner shortly thereafter. Steve made his way over and they gathered in a loose circle under the stars, illuminated by the hangar’s lights and smoldering fires.

“So, how’d the mission go?” Bruce asked, taking in the carnage with a concerned eye, while his gaze seemed to linger on the robot and the two human forms gathered at its metal feet.

“Crazy. The mission went all sorts of crazy,” Clint commented wryly. “But it’s all taken care of now. But we’ve got ourselves new problems now.”

“Oh? Thought I heard some odd things over the radio, but you never called me in.”

“Odd is one word for it,” Sam mumbled under his breath, but everyone still heard it.

“Didn’t need the Hulk this time,” Barton explained, gesturing to those in question with one of his hands. “Our newcomers handled all the heavy lifting.”

Natasha turned her head to look over at Steve, who couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder to keep an eye on Bucky. “How’s Lastimosa doing, Cap?” she asked.

“She’ll be fine,” Steve said absentmindedly as he tried to guess what Lastimosa and Buck were saying.

“That GSW looked pretty serious,” Sam said. “How’s she gunna be fine?”

Steve turned back and met all of their expectant eyes. He explained, “Her enhancements make her very durable so the bullet didn’t do much damage. She’s also got syringes full of a drug that boost her healing rate to insane levels only with other side-effects. Something specially made for people like her.”

“That sounds handy,” Clint commented and a few of the others hummed in agreement.

“And Barnes? How did that go?” Romanoff asked. “We saw you talking.”

“It went… As well as could be expected,” Steve admitted. “He’s made leaps and bound since D.C.”

“Oh, you mean he’s not an emotionless killing machine anymore? That’s nice to hear,” Tony said as he charged his way into the conversation. The billionaire had remained silent for quite some time, but now he stepped out of his armor and swiped his hands down to smooth his clothes out.

Steve rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore Stark’s usual penchant for being disrespectful. “I asked him to come back to the Tower with us, but he won’t go without Lastimosa and RA-5172,” he said.

“RA-5172?” Bruce asked with a raised brow.

“The giant robot,” Steve explained. “That’s its name, apparently.”

“Whoa, whoa… Hold the phone!” Stark shouted. “You went ahead and invited your murder-friend and his murder-girlfriend and their giant murder-robot back to my Tower? Without even asking for my opinion first?”

“He needs help, Tony. Help that we can offer. And Lastimosa apparently needs some help as well.”

“Oh, yeah. They need some help alright,” Sam snarked.

“Surely this is not an insurmountable obstacle?” Thor asked, having remained quiet for the majority of the conversation. “The Avengers Tower is a veritable fortress, yes? Would that not be the best place for individuals of their particular level of danger?”

Stark had not been swayed by the Asgardian’s logical consensus.

“Yeah… No. They’re not coming to the Tower. I’m not putting the whole of New York City at risk by bringing the Winter Soldier, a dangerous unknown and her mechanical monster there. Not even temporarily. He’s a wanted criminal and who knows what she’s done.”

“Well then where do you want to put them?” Steve challenged, stepping towards Tony and pulling himself up to his full height. “Where else is safe enough and under our control like the Tower is?”

Stark’s face pinched for a moment as he looked to be thinking something over.

“Mmm,” he hummed out after a second of thought. “Might have a decent place. Been renovating some old Stark Industries warehouses into a secondary headquarters upstate. I can set up a security perimeter and outfit them both with restraints that’ll shock their asses unconscious if they so much as step an inch beyond it without our say so.”

“Is that really necessary, Tony?” Steve asked, not particular fond of the idea. He hadn’t intended for Bucky and Lastimosa to become their prisoners. This was all so that Buck could have a life again, not be locked up and held against his will. His stomach churned uneasily at the mere thought.

“Yes. It’s very much necessary,” Stark barked. “I don’t trust them. He almost killed you. Almost killed Fury. And we can’t even begin to guess what Lastimosa and that metal giant are capable of.”

“It’s a good plan, Steve,” Natasha argued softly.

“All in favor?” Clint asked.

“Aye!” Tony, Bruce, Clint, Sam and Natasha all chimed simultaneously. Only Thor remained silent and had a rather conflicted expression on his face, as if the idea did not sit quite right with him either.

“And after they’ve been on their bestest behavior for a set period of time maybe we can start to lighten up on their restrictions,” Clint suggested, likely to ease the harsh result of the vote. “Baby steps, right? I’m sure it won’t be for forever. Just until it’s safe enough to let them have free reign.”

“Fine,” Steve said. He didn’t like it, but it was obviously the best he was going to be able to get. “But this is only if they end up agreeing.”

“And what’re you going to do if they don’t? What if they decide to go off and do their own thing?” Sam asked, bringing down the harsh gavel of reality.

“I don’t know…”

“Here they come,” Natasha announced and the team all turned, rearranging themselves into a vaguely line-like formation to face in the incoming trio. Bucky and Lastimosa were at the fore of the group, walking side by side, while the Titan lingering behind them. The incredibly large robot was zig-zagging its way across the hangar to recover the enormous gun and the equally large box magazines that it had discarded during the duel with the Tatzelwurm.

“Talking about us?” Lastimosa asked innocently as they came near enough to be within easy hearing range. Her face was visible to them all now, as she had chosen to keep her helmet off and had it tucked underneath her arm.

“Yes.” Natasha admitted bluntly and the women shared a brief staring contest.

“Only good things, I hope?” the blonde asked with a sharp sort of smile curling at her lips.

“Debatable,” Tony snapped and her eyes drifted in the billionaire’s direction. It looked to Steve like Stark wanted to pick a fight with Lastimosa, whether it was over her gear or over the damage her electrified smoke had done to his armor.

“So?” Steve prompted in an attempt to defuse the brewing storm.

“Yes,” Bucky said.

“We’ll go with you,” Lastimosa added, expanding on the previous answer. “But not quite yet.”

“What’s that mean?” Clint asked.

“There are some things we have to wrap up before we can just leave,” she explained. “Do you think you could come back at the end of the week? Maybe on Friday? I’ve got a job that I’ll need to quit and a few debts and favors that I have to deal with.”

Stark seemed dumbstruck by the woman’s answer.

“Are you for real?” he asked in incredulity. “That was not one of the options.”

“How do we know you’re not going to go off the grid and vanish?” Natasha asked, as her lips were pulled thin and her eyes narrowed in blatant suspicion.

“You don’t,” Bucky answered bluntly. “But we’re not.”

Lastimosa continued, “We’ve agreed that the best next step for us both is to seek outside help. Both for Barnes’ mind and the fact that HYDRA is likely still hunting for him and for my own personal situation.”

“And what would that be?” Bruce asked, seeming concerned about any additional heat that this mystery woman might bring down on the Avengers. All of which could possibly lead to an unannounced visit from the Big Guy, which was inadvisable and very much not a good thing.

“The short version is that we’re lost,” she said, gesturing back towards her Titan. “And need help to find our way back home. The longer version will have to wait until later because its… uh… very complex. But I promise that I’ll explain it in full soon. Most likely when you return to get us.”

Steve chanced a glance at the others, who were almost looking amongst themselves trying to gauge each other’s reactions to Lastimosa’s tale. Most seemed wary and uncomfortable with leaving such an open end to their agreement, but there wasn’t much they could do but take her at her word. There were much more pressing matters – like wrapping up their business with the HYDRA Base – than trying to wring the woman out for every detail into her dubious and possibly sordid past.

“Fine,” Tony ended up saying after a couple second of deliberation via eye contact. “You can have until Friday night and you better not ghost on us.”

“We won’t,” the two promised.

“How are we even going to know where you are?” Sam asked, bringing up a rather important topic.

“I’ll give you the apartment’s address and my phone number,” Lastimosa offered generously, before sliding her eyes back towards Stark with a sarcastic smile. “But I’m sure Stark would be able to track the phone’s GPS without any trouble if it became necessary.”

Tony looked affronted by her sly accusation, which was obviously some sort of dig against his skills with technology. Steve didn’t quit understand what Lastimosa was on about, but happened to notice that there was a faintly smug grin on Bucky’s lips. Amusement from the woman’s jab at the multi-billionaire? He found himself not caring and simply enjoyed the soft look on the love of his life’s handsome face.

Stark huffed, before turning around to saunter away and slink into the interior of the Quinjet.

“Oh, and one last thing,” Lastimosa said, turning to Steve and giving him a hopeful look. “Do you think you could actually give us a ride back to our car? It’s a bit of hike and I’m not particularly feeling like walking twenty kilometers with a partially healed bullet hole in my gut.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was burning a hole in my metaphorical pocket, so I'm just going to call it Saturday already and post now. Hopefully you all enjoyed. This chapter was particularly dialogue-heavy, which I believe to be one of my weakest skills when writing, but with any luck this turned out okay and it doesn't seem awkward or clunky. Always overjoyed to receive feedback on what you all thought. What was your favorite line or moment? 
> 
> But honestly, that talk between Steve and Bucky... OOF! I'm the friggin' author and it got me feeling all sorts of feels.
> 
> Chapter 10 coming out early next week! Woo woo! Who's excited?
> 
> Also, just so you all are aware, I've added a Tumblr and email address in my Profile Info for those of you who want to talk without blowing up the comments section.


	10. Chapter 10

**1918 HOURS | NOVEMBER 14, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

There was a knock on the door.

A fairly loud knock, but not in any way inherently aggressive or threatening, which would’ve put her on alert. Rhiannon knew exactly who was there. She’d gotten a text message just over half an hour ago to let her know that they were on their way. But the day, that very important and momentous day, had been a bit of a train wreck of the unexpected and she was woefully unprepared for everything now.

“Be there in a minute!” she called out, tending to the sizzling contents of the stove-top to try and get it all to point where she could turn the heat down and leave it all to simmer without constant supervision. She got it to that point after dousing the contents of her pan with some more sauce and a sprinkle of seasonings before she called it good enough.

Why had she ever even suggested on making them all dinner?

It would’ve been far easier to just order a ridiculous amount of take-out.

But no! She had to offer to cook!

Rhiannon made her way to the door, tugging the sleeves of her shirt back down, before peering through the peep-hole just in case her assumptions proved to be false. They weren’t. She saw four people just on the other side of her door, standing calmly in the hall. Exactly the quartet that she had been expecting.

Apparently, Bruce Banner and Tony Stark had elected to not come on the retrieval mission, claiming that they were far too busy with other things, and Thor had been recalled to his homeworld of Asgard.

The door swung open and she met her guests with a cordial smile. It was actually a bit amusing to see Captain America, Hawkeye, the Black Widow and the Falcon standing all clustered together in the hallway of a moderately rundown apartment complex. They seemed so out of place that it was almost funny, but she restrained herself from openly laughing at the sight.

“Come on in. Food’s cooking,” she said, stepping off to the side to wave them all in. “And, just so you all know right off the bat, there have been some unanticipated delays to our timeline.”

“What do you mean?” Romanoff asked, already on guard due to the abrupt change of plan.

“Food?” Wilson looked confused. Had they not told him that she was making them dinner? He turned his head to look into the kitchen where the large pan filled with seared strips of lamb and sautéed vegetables was sedately bubbling along in a rich, fragrant sauce.

“Whatever it is it smells pretty good,” Barton commented as he took an appreciative sniff of the air.

“Where’s Bucky?” Rogers was quick to ask after she had watched him look around the apartment with a wary and investigative stare. He had obviously come to realize that she was the only one present within the fairly small living space.

“I was getting to that,” Rhiannon said, looking down at her phone as another text message appeared with a soft ding. Good, he was on his way back. Five minutes out. “Barnes is doing a bit of last-minute grocery shopping and walking the dog.”

“Dog?” Sam asked again with a wholly puzzled expression.

The Widow raised one perfectly groomed brow and had a faint quirk to her lips. “Grocery shopping?”

Rhiannon hummed. “I didn’t have enough to feed all of you and I estimated that Rogers would at least put away as much as Barnes does,” she said, looking over at the blond super-soldier who had the decency to flush lightly under her scrutiny. “And the dog belongs to a neighbor. They asked us if we would be able to pet-sit this morning and there was no good explanation I could make to get out of it without raising suspicions. Oddy’s a good boy, though, and having a dog around seems to do Barnes a world of wonder. And his owners will be back pretty early in the morning to pick him up and then we’ll be ready to leave.”

“Canine therapy?” Clint asked with what seemed like sincere curiosity. “It helps him?”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod of her head, wandering over to stand next to the stove to babysit her creation. “This is only the second time I’ve had Oddy over since Barnes started staying here. The first time was less than a week into him living here and he was an absolute mess. Malnourished, suffering from frequent dissociative episodes, not sleeping more than an hour every other night and barely even speaking.” A soft smile formed as she thought back. “But that bundle of fur came charging in and it was like Barnes became an entirely different person. He laughed, smiled and played with that dog until they both fell asleep on the couch.”

“Bucky always did like dogs,” Steve commented with a similarly warm look on his own face.

“So,” the ex-Soviet super-spy inquired as she wandered into the kitchen to peer into the pan. “What’re you making for dinner?”

“Stir fry. It’s a family recipe. Can cook this and breakfast food, but that’s about it. Everything else tends to go wrong,” she explained, shrugging her shoulders in regards to her limited cooking repertoire. It wasn’t like there was a lot of time for her to practicing her cooking skills while fighting from one end of the Frontier to the other almost non-stop. “So… There’s beer and water in the fridge if you want it, but not much else since we’ve been clearing out all the food in preparation for the move. Barnes should be back in a couple minutes and the food will done about fifteen after that.”

Rhiannon turned back to mind the meat and vegetables as the four began to spread out around the apartment, but she kept an eye on all of them in her periphery.

The Widow was obvious about her investigations around the living quarters. The red-head prowled from room to room with unabashed curiosity mingled with professional wariness. She made rounds of the living room first before disappearing down the short hall to look into both the bathroom and the single bedroom. Rhiannon was unconcerned. She had nothing to hide. Even if the spy was on the hunt for some clue as to her history; the few things Rhiannon had in the apartment wouldn’t tell her much.

She had her Pilot Helmet, of course. Didn’t go anywhere without it, even though it was currently packed away in her backpack. The data knife was in the bag as well, which was the second most unusual thing she currently possessed. But Rhiannon doubted that the Black Widow could decern much information from just a fancy knife that she didn’t know how to operate. And she had her Hammond P2016, which was currently nestled in the waistband of her jeans because offense was the best defense. There were some spare mags in the backpack, but those were just 11.43x23 millimeter bullets. Which – by absolute coincidence – looked nearly identical to this world’s .45 ACP rounds, so there nothing too strange to be found by seeing those.

The majority of her clothes she had bought on this planet, having made the trip with very little in the way of civilian clothes. Only a handful of her shirts had come from back home, like the one she was wearing right at that very moment. A long-sleeve in olive green with the Lastimosa Armory brand logo printed across the back in black: Three five-point stars over a rising sun and set above the rippling surface of an ocean.

Perks of having a few surviving connections to the family business, right?

Thoughts of family drew her attention to the last pair of things, beyond those few articles of clothing. The two sets of dog-tags that hung around her neck, tucked away beneath the collar of her shirt to hang just between her breasts. Right over her heart.

There was her personal set, as issued by the Frontier Militia, with all of her pertinent identification information. Name, serial number, generation, blood type, unit, Titan’s name if applicable, rank, etcetera. The first tag was stamped on the back with the Frontier Militia’s one-eyed skull and the second with the curling prowler of the Special Recon Squadron. 

And then there was the second pair, which was by far her most valuable possession.

Her father’s tags.

Cooper had collected them on Typhon and had handed them over when their paths had crossed elsewhere on the planet. She was so glad that he had done so, even if in the moment she had nearly broken Jack’s nose. It was only because of BT and Rome that she hadn’t ended up beating him senseless in her grief-fueled rage. An act she definitely would’ve later regretted.

Rogers and Wilson had moved off into the living room, seating themselves on the couch and the matching chair respectively, but far from actually relaxing. They were keeping watch. Scanning the room, watching the Widow’s search, and every so often they would whisper something to one another.

It was only Clint Barton – codename Hawkeye – who actually took a seat at the breakfast bar after taking her up on her offer of a free beer. He apparently was interested in talking to her, or rather interrogating her. But at least he was being polite about it.

“So, what’s your actual name? Lastimosa’s your last name, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “First name’s Rhiannon.”

“But you prefer Rhia?” he asked. “That’s what Cap said Barnes was calling you.”

“Mhmm,” she hummed in confirmation.

“And how long has he been here living with you?”

“Since early September. So, it’s been about eleven weeks as of today,” she answered. “He had managed to smuggle himself onboard a container ship from Argentina.”

“That makes sense. Last place we saw him was in southern Bolivia before we lost him again.”

She nodded before continuing, “There was a tracker in his arm and HYDRA ambushed him at the Port. I had been working there as a mechanic and happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“And you just jumped right in and helped?” Romanoff asked incredulously as she slipped back into the living room and kitchen area after completing her inspection of the other rooms.

“Yes,” she admitted bluntly.

Wilson spoke up from his seat in the living room, “That’s crazy! You know that, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Whole time I was driving his unconscious ass back here I was questioning myself, but I couldn’t find it in myself to actually regret it. Not with the way those bastards were talking about him. Like he was their property. It – uh – resonated with something rather personal for me. And then he woke up, we got to talking and the rest is history.”

“Well, thank you,” Rogers said from the living room and she met his heartfelt blue-eyed stare. “Thank you for being there for him when he needed someone.”

She opened her mouth to reply but there came a gentler series of knocks on the door and the faintest scrabble of blunted claws against on the worn wood.

It seemed that Barnes and Oddy were finally back.

Rhiannon went to the door, noticing that all of the room’s inhabitants had immediately transitioned into some level of alertness, and pulled it open. She was greeted not by an astoundingly good-looking man with a metal arm, but instead received an overly excited missile of golden-brown and white fur to the chest. She held the panting and wriggling bundle of fluff out at arm’s length and looked around the dog at a the quietly amused face of Barnes.

“What’s got him so riled up?” she asked.

“Dunno. We hit the hall and he went nuts,” he said. “Almost pulled the leash right out of my hand.”

“Maybe he smelt all the new people in the apartment and wanted to meet them?”

“Possibly.” He shifted his metal arm slightly, laden as it was with a pair of plastic grocery bags, before looking past her and the dog to the inhabitants of the room with an assessing eye. “How’s it been?” he asked, seemingly unconcerned by the four pairs of ears who were all too obviously eavesdropping.

“Fine. Now get in here so I can finish cooking,” she urged, turning around with the small dog in her arms, though he had calmed enough for Rhiannon to cuddle him close. As Barnes entered behind her and shut the door, she proffered the Kokoni Mix to the crowd to make an introduction. “This is Odysseus. Oddy for short. So, before I put him down, do any of you have a problem with dogs or are allergic?”

The quartet shook their heads in the negative and Rhiannon was quick to let the little monster free. As the dog scurried around the living room, providing ample distraction for the four superheroes, she and Barnes retreated into the kitchen. She began cooking the second half of the meal, which was going to be a hefty serving of noodles to top with her sautéing lamb and vegetables, while Barnes put away the few things they would need for a quick, but filling, breakfast in the morning.

In the following minutes she turned the cooking of the noodles over to Barnes, because he was at least capable of doing that much and it would give him something to keep his mind somewhat occupied. In the meantime, Rhiannon finished up the rest and began assembling the pasta bowls and the cutlery that they would soon need. There had initially not been nearly enough of each to feed six people, but Oddy’s owners had generously allowed them to borrow some for the night after hearing that they would be having guests over for dinner.

An apparent benefit to being kind to your neighbors and babysitting their dog on occasion.

In the fifteen minutes it took for the noodles to be done there was little to no conversations of great consequence. Just bit brief moments of inconsequential small-talk. Barnes remained silent the entire time, stirring the pasta while keeping a weather eye on the living room, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. Rhiannon couldn’t blame him, but the four Avengers had been behaving themselves so far. Oddy was doing well to keep their attentions split between occupying the friendly dog and examining every movement that happened inside of the kitchen.

Oddy, as Rhiannon began to notice all too well, seemed to be as equally in love with the Captain as he was with Barnes. The dog was all over the blond like a cheap suit; begging for attention, performing his limited range of tricks in an attempt to impress the super-soldier in exchange for more pets and trying to bathe the man’s face with his tongue in relentless affection.

And then dinner was done.

She combined the pasta, meat, vegetables and the whole pan’s worth of sauce into a large serving bowl, tossing it all with a pair of tongs, and deposited it onto the surface of the breakfast bar.

“Alright, folks,” she announced. “All done. Grab it and growl.”

They all served themselves – Barnes and Rogers piling their bowls high at her insistence – and Rhiannon made certain to give all of them the beverage of their choice from the two options. With the dog settled back down on the floor, instead of in Rogers’ lap, the gathering of six quieted and began to eat. Natasha, Clint and Sam had squeezed themselves onto the sofa, Steve had taken a seat in the couch’s matching chair while Barnes and Rhiannon chose to sit at the tall stools that accompanied the breakfast bar.

“This is really good,” Barton commented after a couple of minutes dedicated to the serenity of eating. There was a chorus of hummed agreement from the others, all which were otherwise occupied in some stage of either chewing, swallowing or drinking beer.

“Tastes almost exactly like that Pancit we got when we were in Manila. Only really thing different is the lamb,” Romanoff said, looking down at her bowl thoughtfully before glancing up at Rhiannon with an assessing expression. “Are you Filipino at all? I mean, you sound Australian, but…”

“What are those?” Rhiannon asked. Her head was slightly tilted off to the side in her confusion as she took a sip from her beer, completely unphased but the sudden clink of everyone – except for Barnes – setting down their forks.

“What?” Wilson and Rogers both asked with widened eyes and slackened jaws.

“I don’t know what those are,” Rhiannon said simply, unaware that she had said something telling.

“Filipino? Like a person who is from the Philippines?” Barton clarified. “And Australian? As in a person from Australia?”

“Yeah… I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? You’ve really got no clue?” Sam blustered. “What? Are you from another planet or something?”

A brief moment of pause before…

“Yes,” she and Barnes answered simultaneously.

Wilson clearly meant it as a joke and had most definitely not been expecting that answer if the utterly flabbergasted expression on his face was anything to go by. The others appeared equally surprised, except for Romanoff who had the slightest of victorious smirks on her face. Keen emerald green eyes slid over toward her fellow spy with an expectant sort of glee.

“Looks like you just lost that bet with Stark, Clint,” she all but purred.

“Oh, he’s never gunna let me hear the end of this,” Clint lamented dramatically while reclining his sandy-brown haired head against the back cushions of the couch.

“What bet?” Barnes asked after the last mouthful of his food, his voice pitched low and threatening. Rhiannon looked at him from the corner of her eyes and saw that he had gone tense in the barstool and had quite a fearsome expression beginning to form on his face. Like a storm cloud rolling in. He didn’t appear to appreciate the fact that the Avengers had been talking about them behind their backs. She had expected them to, actually, but Barnes’ protective reaction came as a bit of a shock.

Saving someone from a bullet was one thing, but defending their honor? That was new.

However, she wouldn’t deny that seeing the big man with his hackles up on her behalf was charming.

Captain Rogers, noticing the distinct change in tone, was quick to try and defuse the situation.

“Based on the footage Tony had compiled of your gear, and the fact that a high-powered rifle round didn’t go straight through you, had him trying to think of possible explanations,” he began to explain. “One of them was that you might not be human.” He paused and seemed to realize that he might’ve accidentally caused offense. “Not that there is anything wrong with that. I mean, Thor’s an alien.”

“And you all decided to place bets on which one of Stark’s explanations would turn out to be correct?” she asked, not offended at all by their false assumptions, but rather entertained. Rhiannon wouldn’t consider herself an alien in the usual sense, but she was technically an extraterrestrial by the actual definition of the word.

“Yup. They did,” Wilson chimed. “Only twenty bucks, though.”

“Only twenty? I would’ve thought I’d at least be worth more,” she said. “Well… I’m not an alien. I am human. I just wasn’t born on Earth, which is why I didn’t know that stuff from before. A lot of culture that originated from the Core Worlds has been forgotten; either accidentally… Or on purpose.”

“But humanity hasn’t even begun colonizing into space yet,” the Widow protested as all of her previous confidence waned away with the latest revelations of Rhiannon’s origins. “We’ve only been to the Moon and just got rovers onto Mars within the last decade.”

The blonde woman opened her mouth to speak, but was stopped short with a warm hand closing gently around her left wrist. She looked over to Barnes, who had been the one to grab her, with a raised brow.

“You sure you want to get into this now?” he asked, glancing around the room almost nervously.

“They deserve at least some sort of explanation,” she said. “Or what’s going to happen tomorrow is really going to throw them for a loop.” He looked at her, but saw that she could not be dissuaded and backed down. Rhiannon looked back towards her audience, who looked to be waiting with bated breath.

“So, as I said,” she began. “I am human, but was born on a planet called Harmony in the year 2586…”

“But…” Rogers began to say but Barnes head snapped in his direction.

“Better to just wait until she’s done before you ask questions,” he suggested with an edge of sternness and the blond’s mouth snapped shut and he nodded sharply.

Rhiannon took that as the sign for her to continue with her brief overview.

“So, I’m a Titan Pilot for the Frontier Militia’s Special Recon Squadron. The best of the best,” she said with a very quick, but overwhelmingly proud, smile. Being in the SRS was one of the highest honors and an absolutely privilege. After the events on Demeter, Rhiannon had been entirely stunned when Briggs had approached her with the invitation to join up with the newly formed unit. Once she had recovered from her injuries, of course.

But she was getting off-track. Again.

“RA-5172, my Titan, and I were on a mission when we were ordered to acquire a piece of unidentified technology that had been unearthed by our enemy. It ended up reacting badly with the jump drive of our dropship and we got blitzed across the galaxy, through time and space, to crash here. On Earth.” She paused, not for dramatic effect, but rather because she was mustering the strength to admit the toughest to swallow of her discoveries. “But according to Rome this isn’t even our version of Earth. A lot of the history doesn’t match up and the apparent existence of superpowered individuals is never mentioned in any of our records.”

“So, you’re not just from another planet and the future, but from an alternate reality or dimension or something!” Sam exclaimed and all of the occupants of the room turned to hiss and glare at the dark-skinned man for raising his voice beyond a normal speaking level. They couldn’t be sure who might’ve been listening in on the conversation. “Oh, shit. Sorry,” he apologized in a near whisper, realizing his error almost immediately. “Just… This is fuckin’ unbelievable.”

“You’re telling me,” Rhiannon mumbled under her breath. January and February had been a very rough couple of months. Coming to terms with being on Earth had been bad enough, but following that up with being nearly six hundred years in the past and not even being on the same Earth she’d known of?

It had been nearly impossible to comprehend.

“And that’s what you need help with?” Barton asked, cutting straight to the heart. “Getting that tech to replicate what happened and send you back to where and when you came from?”

“Exactly. I’m hoping that Stark and Doctor Banner will be willing to help,” she said. “Give me mechanical or electrical engineering any day. But calculating jumps between dimensions and with alien technology? That’s so far above my paygrade it’s not even funny.”

For a minute no one spoke and Rhiannon watched as the four digested her story, taking a moment to glance over at Barnes to gauge his mood. He was watching them as well. His shoulders were still tense and his face was being kept carefully blank, but the rapid flickering of his eyes between the others gave away his apprehension. Even the presence of Oddy – who was now sitting by his feet and staring up with twinkling brown eyes filled with nothing but adoration – seemed to have no effect in calming him.

Was he afraid that they would react poorly to the information she had shared? Rhiannon thought that was rather unlikely. After all, if they could tolerate the presence of a Norse God that was in actually an alien from another planet, then they could certainly deal with her particular variant of strange.

Right?

“Well that… Wasn’t something we were expecting to hear,” Steve admitted, looking rather stunned.

“It definitely wasn’t one of the options for the bet,” Clint half-heartedly joked. “But at least that means I get to keep my money.”

“Sorry to have dropped all that on you,” Rhiannon said. “But given what you’ll be seeing tomorrow, it was better to at least lay a bit of groundwork before you see all the stuff that’s in the ship. It can be a bit much for those who haven’t been given fair warning. Even Barnes had a bit of a moment.”

Romanoff took a final swig of her beer and nodded her head as she swallowed. “Considerate of you.”

“Do you have any questions you want answered right now?” Rhiannon asked. “I know it’s getting late and we have an early morning but…”

There was an eager expression on Wilson’s face, but the Captain cleared his throat to cut him short. She turned to look at her fellow blond and noticed that he looked slightly uncomfortable, or maybe anxious. There was a faint twitch in the muscles of his jaw, like he was gritting or grinding his teeth, and she wondered what was bothering him or what he was thinking about that had gotten him so agitated.

“There isn’t anything for now and anything else we can always ask at a later time,” he said. “I think, instead, you both ought to be told what to expect tomorrow and for the foreseeable future.”

“Cap…” Barton murmured warningly.

“No. They deserve to know. They’re both asking for help and putting their trust in us to give it to them. I won’t hold back the reality of what they should expect just because it’s inconvenient,” Steve argued, sweeping his blue eyes around the room with as much authority as he could muster to quell the other three into silence. Lastimosa and Bucky needed to know what to expect and he wasn’t going to keep quiet and make it seem like a betrayal, rather than a mere precaution. He turned back to face the two seated on the stools, face as apologetic as he could make it, and meeting their wary stares. “Tomorrow we’ll be flying both of you to a facility in upstate New York that Stark has been renovating into another base for the Avengers. That is where – for the time being – you’ll be staying.”

“Not the Tower?” she asked.

Rogers shook his head. “No. It was decided – Stark thought it would be too dangerous to have any of you in the city. The place upstate is remote and sparsely populated. Less of a risk of civilian casualties should something…”

Rhiannon and Barnes as they listened became almost mirrors of each other. An assortment of emotions appearing on each of their faces: anger and disappointment primary amongst them. But in the end, they both became nearly identical images of a resigned sort of acceptance.

“Ah,” the blonde woman sighed in realization. “This is a matter of containment. Smart of you to keep us out of the city in case we decide to go on a murderous rampage, right?”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, feeling sick to his stomach at the pain he could see on Bucky’s face. The faintest flickers of betrayal, muted by the formation of an all too familiar emotionless veil, reflected back at him from those steely blue-gray eyes. Even the resigned look on Lastimosa’s face set the bitter sensation of guilt and regret churning in his gut, but the Widow spoke before he could.

“Yes,” the red-head admitted bluntly. “It is containment, both for the public’s safety and your own. Barnes is dangerous and in a fragile state of mind.” Her eyes flickered towards the former HYDRA assassin knowingly, as if speaking from personal experience. “And I would imagine that he knows that better than anyone.” Romanoff’s attention switched over to Rhiannon with an equally weighty stare. “And you’re an anomaly. We know nothing of your history beyond what you’ve just told us and based on what we saw at the HYDRA Facility you’re just as lethal as any of us. Perhaps even more so… We’re willing to believe you’re telling us the truth and offer our help, but that doesn’t mean we can trust you.”

“Yet,” Barton clarified, setting his dish down on the coffee table and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He appeared to be sympathetic. “This is only temporary. Eventually, after its been decided that you’re not active threats, you’ll be able to do whatever you’d like and go wherever you want.”

The fact that their containment would only be for a limited period of time was far from a comfort. Who knew how long it would take them to determine that she and Barnes weren’t actively trying to kill them in some nefarious plot? Would it take only weeks? Or months? Or even years?

She just wanted to go home and make sure that Barnes received the help and support that he needed. Rhiannon had high hopes that Rogers would be more than willing to fill her shoes when she eventually left. The longing looks that the blond super-soldier was covertly giving her dark-haired companion were a good indicator that her judgement was more than sound on that front.

“What other restrictions will there be?” she finally ended up asking. “I’d prefer to know now.”

“All your ammunition – bullets, grenades, rockets, whatever – will be confiscated upon arrival. You can keep the guns themselves, but we’re rendering them as useless as possible. We’ll also be taking any other sorts of weapons, though. Like the knives we know you both like to carry,” Natasha explained. “Stark has designed a bracelet that will allow passive surveillance and location tracking on each of you, as well as keeping you within the marked perimeter for the Facility. If either of you step outside of the perimeter, an alarm will sound to alert those onsite and you’ll receive a shock strong enough to most likely render both of you unconscious.”

“What about the dropship and my Titan?” Rhiannon asked. “Will you be confiscating those as well?”

“Not unless you give us a reason to,” Rogers said. “But if all that you’ve said is true and you really mean it then there shouldn’t be any problems. Obviously, you won’t be allowed to fly the ship anywhere, but you can have access to it as much as you’d like. And as long as the Titan doesn’t hurt anyone it can stay operational.”

It was a relief, small as it was, to hear that she would be able to talk with Rome as much as she’d like.

“Is there anything else?” she asked, hoping that was no more.

“Banner wants to perform a medical examination on the both of you, as well,” Barton added. “Despite his continued insistence that he’s not that sort of doctor. But he’s also the only one who is even close to qualified and already knows about all of this. We’re not going to risk bringing in someone from outside. But it’s entirely optional. We’re not going to force you to get looked at if you really don’t want to be.”

“And we’d also appreciate it if you handed over any intelligence you’ve collected on HYDRA as well as the data you managed to pull from the Facility in the mountains,” Romanoff added. “We’re hunting them too and anything you have to offer could help us a lot.”

Rhiannon took a moment to think, checking on Barnes as she did so to make sure that he was still with them. The last thing she needed was for him to have an episode right then and there, but she wouldn’t hold it against him even if he did. Even she was struggling to remain outwardly calm – How could they even think that an honest plea for help should be responded to with imprisonment? – but knew that an outburst would only make it that much harder to earn their trust. Regardless, she was going to have to talk with Barnes about all of this, just to make sure that he was actually comfortable with it all.

If he wasn’t… Well, she would cross the bridge when she got there.

The metal armed man was looking towards the floor, barely paying any attention to the rest of the room, but at least he hadn’t sunken into the depth of his troubled mind yet. He was petting Oddy, instead. That brilliant little dog, who had undoubtedly sensed the rising distress, had stood on his hind legs and put his front paws in Barnes’ lap. Long strokes over the top of the dog’s head and gentle scritches and rubs behind those pair of floppy ears, with his fluffy tail wagging sedately back and forth.

It was a good sign – an indicator of progress – that he had sensed that he was heading towards a bad head-space and was actively trying to distract himself and keep himself calm instead of just plunging headfirst into an episode. But it was also a sign that she needed wrap this dinner meeting up and send the Avengers on their way.

This had been more than enough for one night.

“Well, thank you for letting us know all of that ahead of time,” she announced, looking up to meet the earnest and remorseful gaze of Rogers. “I won’t lie and say that I hadn’t been hoping for something a bit more lenient than all of that, but if that’s what it takes… I can only speak for myself, of course, but I do appreciate that you were at least honest. But with that said, I think it would be best if you all left now.”

They were slow to rise, perhaps fearful that the night was ending on a bad note, but Rhiannon knew that Barnes was at his limit for the day. She stood as well, going around to collect their dishes and piled them all up in the sink. Barton and Wilson were the first to walk out, exchanging polite goodbyes and see you in the mornings with the both she and Barnes. Romanoff lingered slightly longer as the two women ended up meeting each other’s eyes and maintained the eye contact for several seconds. For what purpose, she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but the red-headed super spy seemed to be studying her. In the end the much shorter, but no less deadly, woman gave her a sharp nod of what Rhiannon could only hope was approval before walking out into the hall to join her companions.

It was Rogers, of course, who dragged his heels the longest.

“Thank you for dinner. It really was delicious,” he said, unable to help himself from looking at Barnes one last time. The dark-haired man had picked his head up when the four had started to leave, watching them all with piercing scrutiny. She imagined that he was looking for the slightest signs that this all had been some sort of trick to lull them into a false sense of security. “It was good to see you again, Buck.”

Barnes only nodded once before turning his attention back to Odysseus, who had yet to leave his side even as the others had left. The handsome blond’s face fell from the lack of response and Rhiannon could not help but reach out and lay one a comforting hand on the poor man’s thick arm.

“Don’t take it too personally, Steve. It’s been a tough night for him,” she soothed, urging the super-soldier to start walking down the short hall towards the front door. “He’ll be better in the morning.”

“I know. I know. I just – It’s so hard,” he explained in barely more than a whisper. “I keep expecting him to break into this huge grin and bust out some witty line like he used to back in the day. It’s tough to see him so…”

“Broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, before trying to explain something that she was almost certain the Captain had not yet been able to wrap his head around. “It’s incredibly difficult to come back from something like what he’s gone through. I – I’ve had an experience that is similar enough to his own,” she admitted, keeping it vague because she didn’t like to talk about it. “That’s most of the reason why I can relate to him and help him in the way that I do. As someone who doesn’t understand what he’s gone through on a personal level like that, it’s going to be very challenging for you to connect with him like you used to.”

“I…” he began, but she cut him off.

“I’m not saying that it’s going to be impossible and that you shouldn’t try your hardest,” she said. “I just mean that it’s going to be a painful process, for both you and him. I know it was for me when I came back. Having to get to know all of the people I had once loved but had completely forgotten.”

“I – Thank you,” he said as they came to the door and she ushered him out into the hall, closing the door partially behind her. She had heard the other three going down the stairs shortly beforehand and she wanted a moment alone with the Captain, even though she knew that Barnes could still hear them plain as day. “It’s nice to hear you say that.”

“You’re welcome. And don’t forget, just because something is broken doesn’t mean that it can’t be fixed and more often than not it ends up being even stronger than before.”

“That’s… really beautiful. Where’d you hear that?” he asked.

A smile curled on her lips, tinged with sadness, but nonetheless from the heart and true. “My father told me that once when I was in a real bad place.”

“He sounds like a good man and a better father.”

“He really was.”

Rhiannon spent a moment in reflection while Rogers seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“I’m really sorry about the whole bracelet and protective custody thing. I didn’t want it at all, but Stark insisted and won over the rest of them,” he began to explain with a mild tinge of panic in his voice.

“I understand, Steve. It’s the smart thing to do, even if it hurt our feelings in the process,” she said. “I just hope it doesn’t last for too long.”

“It shouldn’t. Just don’t cause any trouble and after a couple weeks I’m sure Tony will see sense.”

“With any luck,” she commented, having a hard time believing in her ability to change Stark’s mind about anything, much less his choice to keep them under lock and key like criminals.

“So,” Rogers began awkwardly, as if just remembering. “Um… The Quinjet is at the airport in one of the private hangars. Just – uh – let us know when you’re on your way and one of us will meet you.”

“Okay,” she agreed before deciding to try and lighten the mood. “But you better get a move on now, Captain, before Romanoff decides to leave you here. There’s no room in the apartment for a third super-soldier, so I’d have to make you sleep in the hall.”

“Ha! Funny…” he trailed off as his eyes widened ever so slightly. “But I wouldn’t put it past Nat to actually leave me here as a joke. She gets like that sometimes. So, yeah, I should go. Um, have a good night. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

Rhiannon watched him as he walked away, allowing herself a moment to enjoy the view of the man’s fabulously shaped rear, before retreating back into the apartment to check in with Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, everyone! And a big congratulations to myself for making it to 10 chapters without running out of inspiration and writing fervor for this story. Woo hoo! I think it's gunna be a long haul there, folks. If it hasn't died by now I don't think its going to any time soon. Though, credit where credit is due, a lot of that is because of all of you for all the love you've shown this story so far. All the bookmarks, comments, kudos and even watching the hit counter go up keeps me going every time I sit down to write some more. So really, a big round of applause for all of you as well! And just in case anyone was wondering, Rhiannon's line to Steve nearer to the end is inspired from a very real quote, not just some heavy-handed, author-y, metaphorical bullshit.
> 
> "The world breaks everyone, and afterwards, some are strong at the broken places." - Ernest Hemingway
> 
> And I feel like that really works with the overarching theme I have running for Bucky, Rhiannon and Steve. They've all been beat up, chewed up and spit out by their respective worlds and now they're all trying their best to come out on top despite their wounds. It also ties into the title of the fic itself. So, bonus points, I guess? I also just really liked that idea of something like that coming from Tai Lastimosa in "Super Dad Mode". And we have a bit more background information on Rhia coming to light as well as my personal head-canon for how the Titanfall Universe is as I see it. Some *wink wink nudge nudge see what I did there* sort of references that will be elaborated on later, I promise.


	11. Chapter 11

**0734 HOURS | NOVEMBER 15, 2014 | THESSALONIKI, GREECE**

The morning came far too early and Rhiannon had slept like absolute shit.

This was, in part, because she had spent the majority of the night keeping a watch over Barnes after they’d had quite a troubling and difficult conversation. He’d been having second thoughts and Rhiannon would’ve been lying if she hadn’t been having them as well. The fate that awaited them both was far from what they had been hoping for. But, in the same vein, it was quite a bit better than their absolute worst expectations. Ultimately, they had both agreed to continue with their original plan. Though, should their conditions prove to be intolerable they would simply escape.

Surely between Barnes, Rome and herself they could manage such a feat?

And if Barnes truly began to suffer during their period of containment, Rhiannon was more than certain that Rogers would be willing to help them bust out as well.

It was well past midnight when they’d finally settled in for the night and tried their best to fall asleep, but both been restless and slept fitfully. Even poor Oddy had been unable to settle down with all of the tossing, turning and the numerous times that they’d both woken up gasping for breath. And then, in what seemed like the blind of an eye, the phone alarm was going off shrilly and it was time to wake.

They rose, ate, showered, dressed and finished packing their belongings in near silence for the hour and half it took for Oddy’s owners to arrive at their door. The young couple ready to retrieve both their precious fluff-dog and borrowed tableware. It was only through the consumption of copious amounts of coffee that they emerged from the apartment in any semblance of alertness.

Both were dressed in their casual civvies, with Barnes taking his usual care to hide his titanium arm with long-sleeves and thick gloves, as well as keeping his face somewhat obscured under the brim of a hat. And while the mid-November weather in Greece was often still fairly temperate, even Rhiannon had pulled a hat over her own head to keep her sensitive ears warm. With arms laden with their bags – two backpacks and three duffels – they made their way down the stairs and towards the car.

In the prior weeks, with what money she had to spare on expenses, Rhiannon had taken her roommate shopping for more clothes and other such hygienic essentials. The man had only one spare shirt and pair of jeans in his go-bag when he’d arrived and barely anything in the way of toiletries. But now at least, due to her insistence, he had about a week’s worth of outfits for a variety of weather conditions and supplies enough to keep himself clean and well-groomed for the foreseeable future.

While Barnes loaded their things into the trunk of the SUV, Rhiannon made her way to the landlord’s unit on the first floor. When she came jogging back after sliding an envelope with the key and her last rent payment under the door, she found her dark-haired companion sitting in the driver’s seat and ready to go. Rhiannon guessed that this was his way of offering to drive and she wasn’t going to argue, handing over the car keys and making herself comfortable in the passenger seat.

As they pulled out of the parking lot, Rhiannon messaged the Avengers on the phone number they’d given her the previous weekend to let them know that they were on their way. Her next message went to her Titan, who had been accomplishing his own task in preparation for their departure. She could’ve used her helmet to speak with him personally, but it would’ve been an odd sight and completely defeat the purpose of remaining inconspicuous. And so, texting it was.

The drive proved to be unremarkable and the half an hour or so it took to drive to the airport passed by without issue. They parked in an all but empty lot, tossing the car keys in the glove compartment for her former boss and the previous owner of the car to find later on in the day, and burdened themselves with their bags once again.

The one to meet them – Clint Barton – was leant up against the sliding front doors of the terminal.

“Morning,” he greeted. “Good to go?”

“Yeah,” she said, covering her mouth as a yawn accidentally slipped through. “We’re ready.”

“Rough night?”

“Wasn’t great,” Barnes grumbled after shifting the duffels to lay more comfortably atop his shoulders. The archer looked unsurprised, but wisely didn’t comment or ask any further questions. He gestured for them to follow him, leading them to skirt the outside of the building and slipping them through a gate and onto the tarmac without anyone being the wiser.

True to Rogers’ word, the Avengers’ Quinjet was waiting for them in one of the few private hangars kept slightly off to side of the main runways. The Captain and Wilson were lingering near the open doors with travel mugs of coffee in their hands, while Rhiannon assumed that the Black Widow was inside the jet to prepare it for their departure.

“Good morning,” Steve said as they approached, holding out one of his hands in a friendly offer to take one of the duffels from Barnes. But the attempt was rebuffed as the darker haired man swerved to the side to avoid Rogers entirely, skirting wide and entering the plane without a word. Barton followed just behind the darker-haired man, leaving only Rogers, Wilson and Rhiannon outside of the hangar. The confused and hurt expression on the blond super-soldier’s face was enough to have the blonde woman stopping momentarily to give an explanation for her companion’s apparent foul mood.

“It wasn’t a good night, Steve, and we’re both in not the greatest of moods,” she said, rubbing at her forehead and eyes with her free hand while resisting the urge to yawn once more. “Frankly, you’re lucky I managed to convince him to still go along with this at all. It was pretty touch and go.”

His mouth began to open, likely with another round of apologies ready on the tip of his tongue, but she just really didn’t want to hear it right then.

“We know and understand that you got outvoted. We’re still here, aren’t we? Just don’t be expecting him to be very talkative for a while. He’s still wrapping his head around it all and coming to terms, “she said. “Now let’s get this show on the road,” she prompted, making her way past the blond and into the interior of the plane.

She heard two pairs of boots following in her wake as she made her way over to Barnes to set her bags down beside his own. Rhiannon bumped into him lightly with one of her shoulders, drawing his focus with a raised brow, questioning where his head was at out of honest concern.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled unconvincingly, but she wasn’t letting it go just yet.

“You’re really not fine,” she argued quietly. “You can’t just shut everyone out because we’re a grumpy bitch and bastard today. Try to talk with them at least a little bit. They won’t bite and saying more than five words won’t kill you.”

He looked wholly unimpressed with her well-meant suggestion, but she wasn’t going to let his progress with socializing stagnate just because he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the people in the room. Nonetheless, they worked together to store their bags in one of the empty storage compartments built into the walls of the Quinjet. With their luggage dealt with, Rhiannon urged Barnes to get settled into one of the seats while she made her way to the front where Barton and Romanoff were switching off.

“So, Lastimosa, where are we going?” Clint asked as he settled himself into the pilot’s chair, while the red-headed woman stood nearby with a curious and thoughtful expression.

“About forty-five kilometers northeast from here,” she offered. “Coordinates 40.9223 latitude and 23.3023 longitude. It’s a national park. Have to admit that I got real lucky with crash landing in the middle of nowhere.”

“Still, it’s very surprising that you went completely unnoticed by everyone. Does your ship have stealth capabilities?” Natasha asked as Rhiannon turned her head to look at her, wondering internally why the international spy was so curious all of a sudden.

“Nothing beyond the normal suite of sensor baffles and dampeners,” she explained. “It’s a heavy dropship-gunship hybrid meant to deploy forces – troops and armor – into active combat zones. Not really meant for covert infil or exfil. If it gets noticed before the LZ and is met with AAA that it can’t handle, standard procedure is just to jump out of system and jump back in at a secondary location.”

“Sounds like it’s pretty big to be carrying all of that,” Wilson commented as he strapped himself into his own seat of the far side of the aircraft.

“Oh, yeah. It’s big. Easily four or five times bigger than this,” she said, gesturing around the interior of the Quinjet as she made her way back towards Barnes’ seat with the shorter woman following along behind. “Almost forty meters from nose to tail and two-thirds of that length from side to side. The design was upscaled from the original so that it could carry a full team of Pilots and their Titans.”

“How many is a full team?” Rogers asked as he also sat and Romanoff took a seat next to him.

“Six is the usual count – that’s what the ship is rated to carry at max load – but it can really be anywhere from four to eight depending on preference.” The bronze-skinned blonde took a seat next to her metal-armed companion, who was actively listening and had a far less fearsome expression on his handsome face than earlier. Maybe the small-talk was calming him? She couldn’t say for sure, but was glad to see that he was less stressed out than before. “SRS Pilots tend to work solo or in pairs, however. Unless there’s something real big going on.”

“Think I’d shit myself if I saw six of you and your robot heading my way,” Sam admitted and she couldn’t stop the satisfied grin that spread across her face at the darker skinned man’s response.

“That’d be the appropriate reaction. You see six Pilots and their Titans heading your way and you’re on the opposing side? You’re straight up fucked and can kiss your ass goodbye right then and there.”

Barnes chuckled at that and she gave him a friendly nudge, glad to have lightened his mood further, catching Rogers’ eye across the cabin and taking notice of the small, but warm, smile on his face.

There was so much being left unsaid between those two. So much important history that was shared and the remnants of a relationship that had been so strong once upon a time, or so she had learned from a reluctant Barnes on one of his good days. Between that knowledge and just watching Rogers pining after the darker haired man she knew that they had been so in love once. They deserved more than anything to get back what they had once had, but she knew it was absolutely none of her business.

She was the interloper. The third-wheel. But she was stuck in her spot until such a time came that she could safely remove herself from the equation.

She knew that Barnes was emotionally attached to her, just as she was to him. There was no way they could’ve spent nearly three months living together and not form some sort of connection. And Rhiannon was just as equally well aware that she was physically attracted to Barnes. Though, she couldn’t guess as to whether or not he found her appealing and rather doubted that he had yet to achieve the correct head-space to be thinking of such things. She knew of people who suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder and had heard that sometimes their sex drives all but vanished in the wake of their trauma. But, nonetheless, someone would’ve had to have been completely blind to not acknowledge how good-looking Barnes somehow managed to be on a nearly constant basis.

Waking up with a truly horrendous case of bedhead and a week’s work of unshaven scruff?

Handsome.

Drinking coffee and watching mindless reality television at six something in the morning in his pajamas?

Gorgeous.

Fresh out of the shower with little drops of water dripping from the ends of his hair onto his impossibly broad shoulders and smelling like a dream?

Mouthwatering.

Shoveling astounding amounts of food into his mouth like it was to be his last meal and without any semblance of table manners?

Breathtaking… In more ways than one.

It would be a sad day when she returned to her reality, but it would be for the best in the long run. She and Rome and all of their belongings didn’t belong here. She had sworn oaths of loyalty to the Militia – and to the SRS – that she could and would not forsake. Not even for the chance to spend more time in Barnes’ enjoyable company.

But, most of all, she couldn’t find it in herself to leave Cooper and BT all on their own.

Those two were basically the only real family she had left.

She was shaken from her introspection as the Quinjet rumbled to life – astoundingly quiet for an aircraft of its size – around them and Barton announced that they had just been cleared for take-off. With a brief rolling journey out onto the tarmac and a surge from the VTOL engines, they were up and away. They ascended rapidly to a safe cruising height, beginning to make the turn northeasterly and activating the cloaking technology that the craft was equipped with to make them invisible to the naked eye.

And, luckily, it would be an incredibly quick flight.

Rhiannon pulled out her phone, checking in with Rome via text to let him know that they were inbound. The Vanguard-class Titan was quick to respond, as always, and claimed that everything was on schedule with only those few things that needed human hands left to accomplish. For the past two nights he had been clearing the debris from the dropship under the safety of darkness, removing those trees that were far too large for her to shift on her own and digging away at the thick layer of covering dirt as well.

All of the engines would undoubtedly need to be visually inspected and she was half tempted to do a walk through of the entire power-plant just to be on the safe side. The ship hadn’t been powered on fully or airborne since January, after all. Only the slightest amount of power had been needed to run the internal lighting and the hydraulics on the cargo bay door.

So much to do and so little time.

But with any luck, and the helping hands of Barnes and the other four, they would be ready to fly to New York and the Avengers Base at some point around midday or early afternoon.

That flight, in contrast to this one, would be several hours longer. As enticing as it was to use the jump drive to cut the trip down into a matter of seconds, she wasn’t wasting the drive’s precious fuel on an in-atmosphere jump that wasn’t an absolute emergency. Not to mention that the piece of alien tech was still onboard, tucked away in a containment unit, and Rhiannon hadn’t a blessed clue as to if it was still capable of fucking around with the jump drive again.

Oh, hell no! She wasn’t running the risk of sending herself somewhere else. The wrong Earth in the year 2014 was bad enough, thank you very much.

“So, when did you crash exactly?” Natasha asked, breaking the silence as the Quinjet leveled out.

“Early January, I think. Why?”

“Just trying to figure out why no one noticed your arrival. Early January,” the red-head mused, clearly deep in thought before her green eyes widened in sudden realization. “That’s when…”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. fell,” Rogers supplied gravely as he came to the same conclusion. “And HYDRA was exposed to the world.”

“Between all that shit in Washington with Project Insight and all the other stuff around the world going down… Damn! No wonder nobody noticed. Everyone was too busy dealing with all that shit to see a spaceship falling out of the sky and go to investigate,” Sam added in conclusion.

A silence fell for a minute as Rogers, in particular, began thinking deeply about something. Though, Romanoff merely settled back down in her seat with a satisfied expression. “Well that’s one mystery solved,” she said.

The rest of the brief flight passed by quietly and without any other momentous realizations, before they began making their gradual descent towards the crash site. Breaking through the light cloud cover, Rhiannon just briefly caught a glimpse of the ground as Barton began to angle them in for a landing in the clearing that the dropship had created.

“Damn, Lastimosa. This was quite a crash,” the sandy-haired archer commented as the Quinjet settled down with a gentle bump in a suitable spot, closer to the beginning of the trench the dropship had carved into the ground. “How your ship came out flight-capable after this sort of a wreck, I couldn’t even begin to guess. They must make ‘em tough as nails where you’re from.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent pilot. Of both Titans and ships,” she quipped, unbuckling from the seat and standing to reach for her backpack. She wanted to have her helmet and data knife nearby should she need them. “And I got lucky. Emerged from the jump pretty low in the atmosphere, barely three thousand meters up and we just coasted in while decelerating gradually with what remained of the power.”

She led the way out of the jet with the rest on her heels, Barnes trailing at the back of the pack to keep an eye on them all and their surroundings, with her backpack slung over her shoulder. True to her Titan’s message, the majority of the trees had been removed and stacked off to the side in an orderly pile, while the dirt had been dug away from the side mounted thrusters. It looked as though there were only a handful of trees that remained on top of the ship and it was those they were would have to remove by hand, or at least shift them close enough for Rome to reach.

The cargo door hissed open and the Vanguard-class Titan emerged into the morning sunlight.

“You buried it?” Rogers asked, walking faster to that they were side by side. “That’s how you prevented it from being spotted by any satellites?”

“Yup,” she said. “It was already covered in dirt and trees after the crash. So, until there came a time when we found a way to leave, Rome and I just covered the whole thing and powered it down.”

“That’s pretty smart,” Natasha added.

“I do have my moments.”

“Good morning, Pilot Lastimosa. It is good to see you again,” RA-5172 greeted as they drew near. “There are six remaining trees that need to be removed from the ship before flight will be possible without running the risk of causing any further damage.”

“Thanks, Rome. We’ll get right on that. You’ve done good work so far.” Rhiannon turned to look at Rogers, who had his head craned up and was studying her Titan with undisguised fascination. In fact, Romanoff, Barton and Wilson were doing much the same. True enough they had seen him during the attack on the HYDRA Facility, but it was a wholly different sort of experience to see a Titan under an open sky and the light of the sun.

“Damn. I forgot how big it is,” Sam commented in quiet awe as he studied the armored behemoth.

“He. How big _he_ is,” she corrected. “Rome is a fully functional artificial intelligence developed by the Frontier Militia and has identified himself as male, hence the overwhelmingly masculine voice.”

“He’s an AI? Not just an operating system?” Romanoff asked in astonishment. “I’d imagine Stark would love to compare his programming to J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Who’s J.A.R.V.I.S?”

“Tony’s AI,” Rogers offered helpfully. “He’s in the Tower and will probably be installed in the upstate Facility too. Runs a lot for both Stark’s company and the Avengers. Security, comms, you name it.”

“Oh,” she said simply, tucking that little nugget of information off to the side. “Good to know, I suppose. Well, the first thing that needs to be done is getting those trees off and then I’ve got to make sure the engines are clear of any dirt or debris before I even trying to get the ship off the ground.”

“That shouldn’t take too long with all six – or rather seven – of us,” Steve said with a nod of his head. It was fortunate that all of them were dressed appropriately with boots, jeans and sweatshirts; clothing suitable enough for a bit of physical labor.

“That’s the idea. I figured you, Barnes and I can move the trees over so that Rome can take them,” she explained, turning around to fix her expectant gaze on the others. “I’d appreciate it if you three could circle around and check the main four thrusters for anything glaringly wrong or any sort of debris stuck in the intakes. Is that doable?”

“Yeah, we got it,” Wilson assured with a wave of his hand.

“Good. Then let’s get started. Rome, open up,” she said, turning back to her Titan as he crouched and opened the doors to the cockpit. She tossed her backpack inside for easy storage, before he closed the doors and she stepped up onto one of his extended hands. She leapt upwards with Rome’s assistance and grabbed a hold of one of the bars that bordered the ejection hatch before pulling herself up onto a crouch atop the Titan. “All aboard, kiddos. Time to get to work.”

The Vanguard-class offered his right hand to Barnes, who was by far the more comfortable around the giant mechanical marvel, who stepped onto the hand with almost as much practiced grace as she had. The left hand was held out for Rogers, who hesitated only briefly, before clambering into the four-fingered extremity of blackened metal and holding on as RA-5172 began to move.

In that instance they both reminded her of Jack, back in those early days when her father had just begun mentoring him for his Pilot Certifications. So unsure of himself around Titans and how to properly clamber around on their bodies. Steve and Barnes proved to be no different than Cooper. For all their enhanced physiology, the two were struggling to keep their balance in Rome’s grasp. Not that the Titan would have ever let them fall. And even if they did, they were definitely both capable of landing without issue from a five-meter drop.

But in a stark contrast, with all of the years of experience under her belt, Rhiannon merely swayed gently from side to side atop her perch in sync with Rome’s loping stride. It was as easy as breathing for her to keep her balance; what with having spent well over a decade around Titans.

RA-5172 brought them to the exposed wing of the dropship, the easiest place for them to disembark onto the hull and Rhiannon leapt across the two-meter gap with ease. The two men joined her shortly afterwards, their boots thumping onto the metal of the hull as they made the jump. None of trees on top of the ship looked to be beyond their combined strength to lift and they really only needed to be shifted close enough to the edge for her Titan to grab.

“This one first,” she prompted with a gesture at the closest and the three arranged themselves along the trunk. On a synchronized count of three, the trio of super-soldiers hefted the tree up and onto their shoulders. In an awkward and slow shuffle, they moved towards the edge of the dropship and her Titan took the tree from them without issue.

Rinse and repeat.

Just under an hour later, they were done and had worked themselves up into a nice sweat. Rogers had long since taken his own sweatshirt off and tied it around his waist for lack of a better place to put it, but neither Rhiannon nor Barnes had followed his example. She had chosen to keep her sweatshirt on just because the sensation of bark scratching against her skin was far from pleasant. The brunet, however, she knew did not like to have his titanium arm out in the open if he could help it. She knew that he was more likely to sink into negative thoughts when the gleaming silver of metal was exposed, especially is his mind wasn’t already fully engaged in some other manner.

Like in a fight.

Just after the last tree had been deposited onto the pile with all the rest, an exclamation of shock came from below followed by a long string of heated and profane swearing. It came from nearer to the back of the dropship, rather close to the still open cargo door. It was nearly ten meters down to the ground, but Rhiannon made the jump in an instant without fear to go and investigate the cause.

“Rhia, what’re you…” she heard Barnes call out as she dropped from the edge.

She landed hard, absorbing the shock as best she could with her knees bent and then quickly falling forward into a roll, before bouncing back up onto her feet. There were two thumps to follow, but she paid it no mind, assuming that Barnes and Rogers had decided to follow her down. The three of them were turning out to be rather similar in regards to their physical capabilities. Rhiannon made her way around to the back, peering around the corner and noticing that Barton, Romanoff and Wilson had gathered at the entrance to the cargo hold.

“Dear God, woman, do you think you have enough guns!” Wilson exclaimed horrified by the sizable armaments on display within, while in comparison Barton and Romanoff looked entranced. But it was not normal human sized guns that were mounted to the cargo bay’s walls, but rather a varied selection of Titan weapons. Eight of them, to be exact.

She sensed rather than saw as Barnes and Rogers arrived and placed themselves on either side of her, but she was too busy finding a sense of enjoyment over the Falcon’s shock over the over-sized firearms.

“There’s no such thing as too many guns,” she snapped playfully and saw Barnes nod in agreement.

“Accurate,” Natasha chimed as the red-head and Barton wandered around the bay, in an awed daze. Wilson followed along behind them and the trio began to peruse the gigantic collection of guns and the enormous sword mounted with industrial-grade magnetic clamps.

“It does beg the question, why do you have so many guns? I’d imagine you have at least an equal number of normal sized firearms,” Steve wondered. “And surely RA-5172 can’t carry this much?”

“No, he can’t,” she admitted. “We were shipped out with a full armory because that last mission was lacking in proper intel and we didn’t know what to expect beyond the basics. We had no knowledge of the IMC’s forces or what sort of defenses they had around the installation. It was decided by HIGHCOM that it was better to have a full range to choose from. Once we were on site and able to assess the situation, we came back to the ship and equipped ourselves properly.”

“That’s sloppy,” Barnes said and she hummed in agreement.

“It was. But sometimes that’s the best we can manage. The Militia may be better organized now and for the most part we’re winning the war, but we’re still a bit rag-tag even at the best of times. Just look at what happened on Typhon…” she said, her voice heavy with sudden sadness and the lingering embers of her intense hatred for that fucking planet.

It was a good thing the implosion of the Fold Weapon had shattered it into pieces.

“Typhon? Is that another planet where you’re from? Out on the Frontier?” Rogers asked innocently, his voice bright with curiosity, but she was far from willing to elaborate at that moment in time.

Barnes seemed to notice the resurgence of her foul mood – aware of enough details about Typhon to know that she didn’t like to talk about it – and said, “Leave it alone, Steve.”

“But…”

“Shut it, punk,” the dark-haired man hissed. “Or I’ll shut it for you.”

Rhiannon suddenly felt inescapably guilty, knowing that it was Barnes’ attachment to her that was causing him to lash out against Rogers, when instead they should’ve been getting to know one another again. Reforging their close friendship in the hopes to one day spark their romance once again. She hissed out a heavy sigh, wishing absentmindedly that things could be simple for at least a day, and lay a hand on Barnes’ arm – the normal one – to calm his rising temper.

“It’s okay. He doesn’t know,” she murmured softly, before turning her eyes over towards the wounded looking blond super-soldier to provide a brief, but hopefully satisfactory, answer. “Typhon was another planet, yes. The Militia jumped in system and launched an all-out assault on an ARES Division operation sponsored by the IMC. It was thought to just be an archaeological dig with moderate defenses, but it wasn’t. A fourth of the fleet was nuked out of existence before we even touched atmo. Vaporized like that.” She snapped her fingers for emphasis. “Thousands dead in the blink of an eye.”

“But…” Steve began, but she cut him off before she could lose her nerve.

“It was also the planet where my father was killed. Hunted and gunned down by a group of mercenaries that call themselves the Apex Predators.”

Rogers looked down at her dumbstruck, before he began to babble with apologies.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I never – I didn’t mean to make you… If I’d known…”

“You didn’t. I get it, Steve,” she said sympathetically. “Just leave it alone, yeah? I don’t like to think about it. For obvious reasons.”

The blond stood there seeming to be looking for something to say, but couldn’t manage it. Barnes shifted ever so slightly closer and she took instinctual comfort in his proximity.

“Lastimosa, give us a tour! What’re all these called?” Barton hollered excitedly in their direction, unaware of the conversation that had just been had, and Rhiannon latched onto the distraction with overwhelming gratitude.

“Glad you asked,” she said, gesturing to each weapon in turn as she walked towards them, prepared to give them an overview much like a teacher would to her students. “They’re ordered by what range they’re most effective at. So, first here is the Broadsword, obviously. Saw that in action last weekend. This is the Leadwall Shotgun, fires three shells – shot or slugs – with each trigger pull. And then we’ve got the XO16A2 Chaingun with its forty round drum magazines. Next is the TPAR, but we just call it the Splitter Rifle. It’s a cyclic particle accelerator, good for taking down shields and melting through armor.”

She continued moving down the line to by far the largest weapon on the wall, which was a personal favorite. “This is the Predator Rotary Cannon, capable of close or long-range firing modes and has a deployable gun shield. All about aggressive sustained counter-fire in target rich environments. Next is the T-203 Thermite Launcher, which launches canisters that ignites large sections of an area on fire. Very good for crowd-control and area denial. Here’s the 40-millimeter Tracker Cannon; specializing in mid to long-ranged engagements. It can fire either Depleted Uranium rounds or Armor Piercing, Depleted Tungsten M20 explosive shells depending on the target.”

And then there was the final gun.

“And this is the PR-01 Plasma Railgun. Basically, it’s an anti-materiel sniper rifle for Titans. The projectile goes so fast on a full charge that it can actually bend the light around it.”

“Holy…” Wilson whispered, his eyes gone wide and jaw slack from the astounding firepower on display.

“And you’ve got still more guns – for you personally – somewhere else?” Romanoff asked, looking around and Rhiannon nodded in confirmation.

“Yes. The armory for the normal guns is on the deck above us,” she said. “So, how did the thrusters look? Anything going to cause trouble?”

“Couple of rocks were jammed into the front right and some sizable branches in the rear left, but we managed to pull them out without issue,” Clint said and Rhiannon was glad to hear that there hadn’t been anything worse than that. But if the thrusters were clear, as Barton had claimed, then it was time to run the system diagnostics and try to get this bird off the ground.

“Well, in that case, I suppose we should be just about ready to go,” she said. “I can take three others besides myself on the upper deck, but the other two will have to stay with the Quinjet.” She looked around the cargo bay and knew that Barnes would be coming in the dropship with her regardless. He wouldn’t be able to tolerate being stuck in the jet for several hours with people that he wasn’t familiar with. It was more of a question as to which two of the Avengers would be riding along with them; most likely out of curiosity and as a security measure.

Another one of them could’ve ridden in one of the troop bays on the lower deck, but it would’ve been a lonely ride – even with Rome not too far away – so she failed to mention it out of kindness.

On a hunch, she guessed that Rogers and Romanoff would volunteer and she was proven correct.

Barton and Wilson returned to the Quinjet shortly afterwards, returning briefly with Rhiannon and Barnes’ bags, and it was agreed that Rhiannon would simply follow the Quinjet during the course of the flight. RA-5172 entered the cargo bay after they had left for good and went to anchor himself down in one of the wall-mounted magnetic clamps for Titans. After making sure that her partner was buckled in securely, she gestured for the others to ascend the ladder that led to the upper deck.

“See? Look at all of the normal human guns,” Rhiannon prompted as she emerged, gesturing towards the four sections of wall that were just as equally covered in weaponry as the lower deck had been. Stacks of ammunition crates and stacks of boxes containing grenades, throwing stars and pulse blades. The walls mounted with sidearms, shotguns, submachine guns, light machine guns, rifles of all shapes and sizes, grenadier-class weapons and even Anti-Titan weaponry.

Guns upon guns upon guns.

The blonde woman happened to catch sight of Barnes making eyes at the pair of Krabers again and couldn’t help but allow a smile to curl at her lips. Maybe before she left, she’d give him one of them as a parting gift? He’d like that, she bet, and maybe it would soften the blow that she undoubtedly knew that her departure would cause.

Maybe one of the Wingman Elites too?

She settled into the pilot’s chair, musing over what guns Barnes had shown favor towards, as the other chose their own seats. The dropship started with a gentle hum as she brought the power online and began to run the necessary diagnostics on the systems necessary for flight. Every system came back clean, or if they did have a problem it was harmless and just a side-effect of the ship sitting around doing nothing for eleven months. A nice hard burn would clean everything out in a matter of seconds.

The engines roared to life as she opened up a comm channel with the Quinjet.

“We’re good to go on this end, Clint.”

“Okay,” he replied. “I’ll take off first and circle until you’re in the air. We’re still good on flying at sixty thousand feet, right?”

“Yeah,” she said. “All of the air circulation and generation systems are green and that way there will be less traffic to deal with since this thing can’t stealth to avoid detection.”

The archer confirmed and the channel fell silent.

Rhiannon waited for a couple of minutes for the Quinjet to clear the airspace before she gradually increased the power to the VTOL thrusters and slowly, they began to rise. Up and up and up, before she transitioned the thrusters into a more horizontal position and began to follow in Barton’s wake. Flipping through the screens, she looked in on her passengers as she unable to turn around and see them from the pilot’s chair.

Romanoff was looking at the gun walls, but on occasion flicked her eyes to either side to study the two men sitting across from each other in wary curiosity. Barnes, with their bags gathered around his feet in a protective circle, had already engrossed himself with a book - They had taken the motley collection of books from the apartment with them on a whim. – and was doing his level best to ignore them both.

The Captain was similarly occupied, but was hardly ignoring Barnes. He had his phone out. Scrolling along the screen at a sedate pace as if reading something, but she didn’t miss the way his chin would tilt ever so slightly upwards when his eyes looked up at the dark brown-haired man.

Rhiannon huffed a quiet sigh with the realization that they were both honestly hopeless and it was going to be slow going getting Barnes to let Rogers back in.

She leaned back into the pilot’s chair, settling herself in to get comfortable.

It was going to be a very long flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary of Abbreviations / Acronyms:  
> -LZ = Landing Zone  
> -AAA = Anti-Aircraft Artillery  
> -SRS = Special Recon Squadron  
> -IMC = Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation  
> -HIGHCOM = High Command  
> -ARES Division = Archaeological RESearch Division  
> -TPAR = Titan Particle Accelerator
> 
> And there is Chapter 11, done and done. Hope you all enjoyed, though I will admit that for some reason I struggled with this chapter, hence the later than usual update. Not with the content really, just the flow did not come as easily to me as it has with previous chapters. Even now I feel like there's just something missing. Unfortunately, I still can't figure out what that missing thing might be, so I'm just calling it good enough and posting. Anywho... The next chapter should prove to be an interesting one. I'm handing the POV over to someone new, so that should be pretty exciting to see our usual cast of characters from an outside perspective.


	12. Chapter 12

**1227 HOURS | NOVEMBER 16, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

Sometimes, and with greater and greater deal of frequency, Bruce Banner wished that he lived in far less interesting times than these.

The most current culmination of his ill-advised choices had found the biochemist and nuclear physicist standing alongside Tony Stark the previous evening as they had awaited the arrival of their compatriots. It was the events of the previous weekend, an all-out assault on a HYDRA Facility, that had thrown quite an unexpected wrench into the usual day-to-day minutia of the Avengers. Of course, the unforeseen development had Steve Rogers nearly in a state of giddy euphoria, but the others were rather worried by the sudden challenge that had been presented to them.

James Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier and a lethal assassin for HYDRA, was coming to stay at the new Avengers Compound. By all accounts, the unfortunate man had been captured, tortured and brainwashed into becoming the Soldier, but that did not mean that he wasn’t a very real and significant hazard. The level of danger that the man posed to them all had the Big Guy growling and pacing within the confines of his mind, ready to pummel the newest threat into a pulp at the slightest of provocations.

But that wasn’t the end of these new troubles!

Barnes was being accompanied by a lady-friend. One who was in control of a giant robot, of all things, and apparently came from the far future of an alternate version of their reality. This mysterious woman, who apparently was named Rhiannon Lastimosa, was something called a Pilot. Most of them had taken that to assume that she was a variant of super-soldier from her reality and based on the video provided by Tony, Bruce was inclined to agree. She was clearly Enhanced – strength, speed, stamina, etcetera – and he had believed it to be along similar veins as what had been done to Steve.

What Bruce had attempted to do to himself and failed miserably.

And so, he had watched alongside Stark as the Quinjet landed and was followed down by a large ship that looked so clearly militaristic with its green and black plating and was quite heavily armed. Clint and Sam had exited from the former, while Steve and Natasha accompanied their newest guests out of the enormous, foreign craft. The robot had attempted to trail behind them all, but the blonde woman had waved it away, ordering it to remain with the dropship for the time being.

As they approached, carrying their luggage over their shoulders, Bruce had taken the time to finally get a good look at the pair in the waning light of the setting sun. While he had seen them both before at the HYDRA Base, it had been dark and they had barely exchanged much more than a brief word of greeting before the two had left to go their own way.

Rhiannon Lastimosa carried herself like a soldier, back straight and head held high. A natural fighter. But there was a lithesome prowl to her gait, akin to that of a big cat. A predatory animal. She was quite tall and rather muscular – though still shorter and slimmer in comparison to Rogers or Barnes – with tanned skin and extremely pale ashen blonde hair that caught the receding sunlight and gleamed. Objectively, Bruce would have claimed that she was a good-looking woman. Though, it was not in the refined or delicate way that Natasha Romanoff or even Virginia “Pepper” Potts were.

No.

Lastimosa was attractive in perhaps the same way that a tiger or a lion was. Fierce and powerful and capable of killing you in the blink of an eye should the mood strike her, but nonetheless appealing in all of its savage beauty.

And Barnes…

He followed after Lastimosa like a protective shadow, an image only furthered by the dark colored clothes he had worn at the time and the fearsome scowl on his face. His skin was pale, with a stubbled jaw and thick, dark brown hair that just barely grazed at the top of his shoulders. Barnes was shorter than Steve, but not by much, and even while clothed the brunet looked to be slightly broader at the shoulder and chest than the blonde super-soldier. Was that indicative of greater physical strength, or just a side-effect of his knock-off version of Erskine’s serum? Or could it even have been a natural development meant to counteract the weight of his prosthetic arm?

Stark had marched out to greet them, with the restraint bracelets that he had designed to contain the two to the new base clenched in his fist, and Bruce had followed. The pair allowed themselves to be shackled; Barnes with an expression of only barely concealed anxiety and Lastimosa with a look of resigned weariness and an obvious grimace of dislike. The restraints themselves weren’t more than a centimeter wide; made of blackened carbon-steel and barely weighed anything at all. But it was their purpose – the constant surveillance and tracking by J.A.R.V.I.S. along with the powerful electrocution should they step beyond the marked perimeter – that had the scientist feeling insurmountable pity for the two.

To so willingly accept what was basically a lenient version of imprisonment just because they were considered to be dangerous unknowns. For them to voluntarily surrender themselves into the Avengers’ custody without a single ounce of protest? They had shown more bravery than Bruce thought himself capable of, certainly.

The loss of his freedom was one of his greatest fears.

That fear was the entire reason that he had run from New York and hidden away, constantly on the run, from everyone and everything. So that no one would be able to capture him, to use the Hulk for their own purposes. And here they – the Avengers… Earth’s Mightiest Heroes as some had called them – were doing to others what Banner so desperately despised and took great pains to avoid himself.

Barnes and Lastimosa had been escorted into the main building some distance from the landing pad. It was a sprawling complex which was set to contain the majority of the living quarters, recreational areas, laboratories and offices that would be needed for the Avengers personally. The secondary buildings were still being constructed – meant to be the workplaces for any additional employees or agents they might acquire in the future – but for now only the primary building was habitable.

As it was, and for the foreseeable future, all of the construction projects had been postponed while Barnes and Lastimosa were being contained on site.

Stark had shown them to their assigned quarters, a pair of modestly sized suites – basically just small, but luxurious apartments – that had been originally planned to be guest housing for people close to the Avengers. Friends and family and such. The rooms were next to each other at Steve’s insistence and located at the very end of the hall that contained all of the team’s planned rooms. Few were currently completely furnished, but all of them already had the basics.

Well… The basics according to Anthony Edward Stark.

But after depositing their numerous bags, the two had been turned over into Bruce’s hands for their preliminary medical examinations, which by some miracle they had both agreed to allow. While he did have a Doctorate of Medicine, he did not often consider himself to be a doctor in the usual sense. No matter what he had spent all those years doing in some of the worst slums and villages in the world. However, due to the confidential nature of Barnes and Lastimosa’s situation, he was on the only one on hand who could perform such an examination properly.

With assurances that Bruce was comfortable being left alone with the two– he really wasn’t, but they deserved some privacy – the three were left on their own. The others returned to Lastimosa’s ship to confiscate ammunition and weaponry that had been deemed too dangerous for them to remain in possession of. Nonetheless, Bruce could feel the Captain’s eyes on them until they turned the corner and vanished from his line of sight on their walk to a suitably prepared lab.

“How are we going about this, Doctor Banner?” the blonde woman had asked as the trio entered the room. It was furnished with a fair smattering of medical technology, most of which had been developed by Stark Industries, and had everything that he would need for their very basic examination. “Do you need us to take off any of our clothes?”

Barnes had shifted nervously at the question, but had nonetheless begun to reach for the hem of his heavy sweatshirt with a twitching and hesitant hand.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” Bruce had been quick to say. “I just need the both of you to stand here.” He had gestured over towards a large, translucent display screen mounted onto a movable arm in a corner of the room. “And then I’ll run a scan and move the screen down your bodies. Front and back. The scan will take your vitals and well as look at your internal systems for any anomalies that will cause problems. Then I just want to take some blood from each of you and then you’ll both be free to go.”

“Fancy,” Lastimosa said, but seemed as relieved as Barnes was that they didn’t need to strip down.

The exam went as well as could be expected.

The scans performed on each of them, Lastimosa first and Barnes second, and a single vial of blood drawn from them both. If any issues were to be had then he would’ve expected them when he had stuck the needles into the crook of their elbows, but neither had flinched even the slightest bit. Bruce had actually been rather convinced that Barnes would react violently to the pinching pain. However, contrary to his expectations, there had only been a slight twitch of the muscles in his square jaw that had the scientist letting out a mental sigh of profound relief.

“So, how much of what you learn here is going to be shared with the rest of them?” she had eventually asked as Barnes was rolling his sleeves back down. “Is doctor-patient confidentiality going to still apply for us given our unique circumstance?”

Bruce was taken aback at the question, both for its unexpected nature and the fact that he had genuinely not thought about it. He had to think for a minute about what he was going to say.

“I’ll admit that the majority of what I learn – your capabilities and what it is that makes the both of you enhanced – is going to have to be shared with the team. That was the primary purpose of this exam in the first place, not just to make sure that you were both actually healthy,” he explained, sad of that fact that he was unable to tell them otherwise. “Though, I don’t think I’ll need to say anything beyond that.”

They had left shortly afterwards, but Lastimosa had taken a moment to more politely introduce herself, shaking his hand firmly and thanking him for his help as well as his honesty.

After that the rest of the evening had passed by quite rapidly.

Stark had ordered copious amounts of take-out from a local restaurant and had sent Barton to retrieve it all. A good portion of the confiscated goods from the ship had been removed and locked away into a secure vault on the property, which only Steve or Tony knew the code to access. The remainder was planned to be unloaded the next day, in addition to the piece of ancient alien technology – locked up in a hastily constructed containment unit – that Lastimosa had briefly spoken to him and Tony about.

It was the only way she thought it might be possible for her to return to her reality, being the cause of her arrival on Earth in the first place.

Bruce had seen the gleam of interest in the multi-billionaire’s eyes at the prospect of fiddling with a piece of unknown and unpredictable technology and he wouldn’t deny that he too was quite intrigued. He also hoped that they would be able to help the poor, lost woman, but had no guarantees that they would manage to be successful in figuring out how the device worked.

When the food had arrived, Barnes and Lastimosa had been given their share by Steve, but excused themselves from the casual gathering of Avengers. The two had vanished into the room chosen by the blonde woman and it was only by the eye witness reports of J.A.R.V.I.S. that they knew Barnes had eventually left and returned to his own room.

Steve had seemed unusually interested in knowing if Barnes was planning to spend the entire night in Lastimosa’s room. It was slightly understandable, but still a bit on the peculiar side for Rogers to have been so curious about something so comparatively trivial.

But now it was the next day.

Breakfast had been consumed and Bruce had cloistered himself in the same lab room from the day before. He had spent those hours looking over the results of the tests he had run overnight on the scans and the blood samples. Safe to say he had been astounded by what he had gotten in response.

It was not so much Barnes that was the shocker. Although, the scans of his prosthetic arm were quite interesting and he was eager to share them with Stark for his opinions from an engineering standpoint.

But, no.

It was Lastimosa’s results that had come as a completely surprise. Her enhancements, while producing similar results to the serums that Steve and Barnes had received, came from an entirely different source. And it was this news that had Bruce striding eagerly into the conference room the Avengers had chosen to meet in for lunch and a much-needed debriefing about their guests.

Clint and Natasha were already there, seated side by side and perusing the prepared spread of food on the table, trying to determine what they both wanted to eat. Bruce greeted them both warmly, his eyes unintentionally lingering on the beautiful red-headed spy, before he moved to gather his own meal. He got himself a drink, a sandwich and sat down to begin thumbing through the data on his tablet while he waited for the others.

Steve and Sam arrived next and were followed shortly afterwards by Tony, who miraculously was on time in spite of his usual proclivities for being late – even to the meetings that he had organized himself.

“Alright, let’s get this party started,” the genius engineer said in lieu of a proper greeting. “Who wants to go first for show-and-tell?”

The Black Widow opted to report first. “We just got finished moving all of the ammunition for Lastimosa and Barnes’ guns, along with all of their knives, grenades and all the ammunition for the Titan’s weapons into the vault. So, we’re good on that front.”

“As agreed beforehand, they are being allowed to keep the guns,” Hawkeye added. “Lastimosa brought up a good point in suggesting that cleaning and maintenance would be something that she and Barnes could do to pass the time.”

“I’m curious, Tony,” Steve said, his tone overall light but carrying a faintest trace of accusation. “What else are they being allowed to do to keep themselves occupied?”

“Whatever they want… Except leave. They can watch TV, watch movies, read books, work out, go on the internet, walk around, whatever. It’s not like they’re confined to quarters, Rogers. There’s well over one hundred acres to this place. They’ve got plenty of room.”

“I know. It’s just…” Rogers began and Bruce was able to connect the dots.

“You don’t want them to feel like prisoners,” he guessed and Steve nodded.

“Kinda unavoidable now, isn’t it?” Sam mumbled under his breath, though everyone heard him.

“It’s not jail,” Tony protested angrily. “It’s more like… I don’t know, house arrest? And as you’ve all told me – constantly – it’s only going to last until we can be certain that they’re not going to try and murder us all in our sleep. Then the restraints come off and they’re free, I promise.”

The occupants of the room seemed mollified by Stark’s vow, Bruce included, though Steve still looked troubled. But that wasn’t likely to change anytime soon. The scientist, with the first matter resolved, took that as the time for him to reveal his own discoveries.

“Well, I suppose I’ll go next,” he began, scrolling through his tablet for the notes he’d taken. “From the scans and the blood tests I ran last night, I can safely say that Barnes’ enhancements are nearly identical to Steve’s. The only true differences seem to be in regards to his physical strength, which looks to be slightly higher, and the speed at which he heals from injuries, which is slower. Beyond that, ignoring the advantages posed by his prosthetic arm and any actual combat training that he received from HYDRA, he is on par with the Captain’s level of physical ability.”

The news was met with nods of understanding, but there was no particular shock to the discovery. They had all operated under the assumption that the Winter Soldier had been designed to be the exact match for Captain America. Due to that simple fact it would’ve been prudent that their abilities would’ve had to have been nearly perfectly matched as well.

“And what about Lastimosa? What’s her deal?” Tony asked, leaning forward in his chair in undisguised and eager anticipation.

“Ah… Well, for that I’ll need to show you something for you all to grasp the full scope,” Bruce began, rising from his chair after taking one more bite of his meal before making his way across the room to the rather large display screen mounted on the wall. “J.A.R.V.I.S. could you bring up those files I sent you earlier, please? And turn down the lights as well.”

“Of course, Doctor Banner,” the AI replied in his always pleasant and polite British accent. With the words, the room darkened and the screen lit up with the images taken by Bruce’s scans from the day before. The first of the images shown was a color-coded interpretation of Lastimosa’s skeletal system, with bone highlighted in pale blue against a backdrop of black. But anything not made of natural, calcium-rich osseous tissue was highlighted in a bright and alarming shade of yellow.

And nearly the entirely of her skeleton was yellow.

Her skull, spine, ribs, arms, pelvis, legs… All of it.

Only the barest hints of that pale, sky blue peeked out through the sea of overwhelming yellow.

“What are we looking at here, Bruce?” Natasha asked, her eyes narrowed in on the screen.

“This is Rhiannon Lastimosa’s skeleton. The blue is normal bone tissue, while the yellow is a metallic alloy of unknown origin. I can only assume that it is a combination of elements native to where she is from,” Bruce reported, feeling the same amount of shocked horror and burgeoning scientific interest that he had felt only a few hours earlier. “Her skull, spine and joints have all been heavily reinforced with it, while the majority of her other bones only have a light coating. Like internal armor. This is also the reason why, for a woman who is five feet eight inches, Lastimosa is a great deal heavier than a woman of her size should be by at least thirty or so pounds.”

He paused for a moment to allow the room to soak in the information.

“Was all of this done surgically?” Tony asked, entranced but also concerned by the display.

“I don’t believe so,” he answered, gesturing to the slightly darker blobs of yellow on the woman’s skull. “Her eyes and ears do show sign of what are essentially cybernetic implants – those would’ve had to have been put in through surgery – but the rest of her system shows no signs. It’s actually what I found in her blood that answers the question about how all of this metal ended up coating her bones.”

The image changed to an enlarged image of blood cells, those that he had studied under a microscope that morning. However, the usual purplish-red circles of cells were not alone in the image. Amongst the erythrocytes, leukocytes and thrombocytes there were little specks of black – barely even a twentieth of the size of the red blood cells – darting back and forth erratically in the liquid medium of plasma.

“What are those?” Steve asked, eyes wide and looking both worried and almost horrified.

Bruce swiped on his tablet, linked with the screen to follow his commands, to the next image. An even further zoomed in image, focusing on those black specks. Those little guys were the linchpin to all of Lastimosa’s slew of physical enhancements.

It was all because of them.

“Those are nanites,” he said. “And she’s full of them. There are nanomachines permeating every single one of her biological systems. Skeletal, muscular, nervous, circulatory, respiratory, digestive, endocrine… All of them. They have literally reshaped her body’s structure to operate at or beyond peak efficiency. They’re what has turned her into a super-soldier.”

“So, that’s what Pilots are?” Clint asked rhetorically. “Humans that’ve been pumped full of nanites.”

“That is correct, Agent Barton,” J.A.R.V.I.S. interrupted. “However, I have received further information to contribute to our complete understanding of Pilot Lastimosa’s physiological enhancements.”

“What?” Tony asked in blatant confusion. “How’d you get your hands on that, J?”

“Earlier this morning I received a handshake request from the Vanguard-class Titan, Romeo-Alpha-5172, on the behalf of Pilot Lastimosa. I accepted the request and we initiated a data transfer,” the AI replied. “I have obtained all of the intelligence Pilot Lastimosa and Sergeant Barnes have compiled on HYDRA during their time abroad, in accordance with the request of Agent Romanoff. That is being processed by some of my sub-routines now. But in addition, I also was sent several more document files and video logs in regards to Pilot Lastimosa herself.”

“Why would she do that?” Sam asked.

“I believe – though I can’t be certain – that they were sent as a gesture of good will on Pilot Lastimosa’s part,” J.A.R.V.I.S. supplied.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Tony urged. “Show us what you’ve got.”

“Very well, sir.” The images on the display shifted into a series of documents and Bruce took that as his queue to return to his own seat. “I have received a copy of Pilot Lastimosa’s service record. Though, in accordance with her elevated rank and level of experience, most of the details have been blacked out as classified material. However, I would have you know that she is a Captain in the Frontier Militia and a senior command officer of the Special Recon Squadron with dozens of medals and commendations.”

“Great,” Sam said with a groan of realization. “She’s basically the Militia’s version of Steve, isn’t she?”

“That is not an inaccurate assessment based on the data,” the AI admitted. “However, in regards to her augmentations, it is important to note that her variant of nanites are far above the average model.”

“What does that mean?” Steve asked only half second before Bruce could ask himself.

“From what I have been able to decipher,” J.A.R.V.I.S. began to explain. “Once beginning their training to become Pilots in a combat capacity, all applicants that show promise receive a low-level dose of nanites to ensure that they are capable of surviving the training itself without sustaining fatal injuries.”

“Surviving? Do people actually die trying to become Pilots?” Natasha asked with a hard expression.

“The failure rating is recorded at approximately ninety-eight percent. Whether or not they are all deaths is unclear, but it can be assumed that the training is incredibly difficult and prone to cause injury.”

“Lastimosa really meant it when she said that Pilots were the best of the best,” Barton said.

“So, Pilots receive the nanites for their training,” Bruce prompted trying to get the conversation back on track. “What makes Rhiannon’s enhancements so special?”

“Over the course of a Pilot’s career, they can sometimes be contacted by an individual known only as The Advocate. This individual will offer the Pilot further augmentation – to make them even more lethal on the field of battle – at the price of minor to moderate levels of memory loss. This process is known as Regeneration. Pilots begin as Generation One, the lowest level of augmentation fielded in combat.”

There was a pause, heavy with anticipation, before J.A.R.V.I.S. continued.

“Captain Lastimosa is currently listed as a Generation Ten Titan Pilot, which is the highest level to have been documented. According to the Frontier Militia’s records, there are fewer than a dozen Generation Ten Pilots in existence.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, stunned by the revelation and falling into deep thought. From what he had been able to glean from the others, Lastimosa came from a place embroiled by war. But to think that the fighting was so bad where she was from that she would voluntarily risk losing her memories to become a more effective soldier. It was nearly incomprehensible. The woman had sacrificed so much for her home, only to – in a random turn of fate – be sent so, so far from it all with no clear way to return.

It was unimaginable.

That poor, poor woman.

It was admirable that she had made it eleven months on Earth without giving up hope.

The scientist picked his head up when he realized that J.A.R.V.I.S. had continued to speak.

“This data, combined with the findings of Doctor Banner, put Captain Lastimosa’s strength and speed, without the inclusion of her advanced equipment, at a level slightly below that of Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes. Although, her rate of healing, stamina levels and physical durability seem to be greater than theirs. However, without further information I can only infer from Mister Stark’s video footage that while wearing the piece of equipment known as the jump kit, she capable of matching their strength and speed. And then, while under the effects of the substance referred to as the Pilot Stimulant, she is capable of surpassing their levels for a limited period of time.”

“Damn,” Sam commented lowly. “That’s… actually really badass. Like hardcore badass.”

“Becoming stronger and harder to kill all the while running the risk of forgetting everything important,” Barton said musingly, looking conflicted and saddened by the knowledge. “Makes me wonder just how bad it is where Lastimosa’s from to make that something that someone would volunteer for.”

“Well,” Natasha began, looking to be digesting the shared information just as much as the rest of them were and was equally shocked by it all. “We all knew she was dangerous. Now we just have a better understanding of what she might be capable of. Now we’ll be able to have a good idea on how to counteract her should things end up taking a turn for the worst.”

Captain Rogers hardly looked pleased with the Widow’s assessment, if the frown that Bruce saw forming on his face was anything to go by. “That won’t happen,” the blond said sternly and with firm conviction.

“You can’t know that, Steve,” the red-head argued, but not without a degree of kindness. “And I hate to say it, but your judgement is extremely biased in this situation. The fact that Barnes trusts her is making you trust her too.”

The blond haired, blue eyed super-soldier looked far from being successfully convinced by Natasha’s argument. Bruce was even beginning to see all of the hard-headed stubbornness that Steve was known to display on occasion coming to the fore. The scientist could see the Widow’s logic – in spite of his pity and sympathy of the plight of both Barnes and Lastimosa – but it would seem that Steve refused to.

Bruce hoped that his blind trust wouldn’t come to bite him in the ass later on.

“Settle down, kids,” Tony chimed in teasingly, though the wary flickering of his dark eyes between the ex-Soviet spy and World War II veteran betrayed a hint of nervousness. Bruce hardly thought the two would come to blows over the issue, but the tension was becoming rather uncomfortable from the way Wilson and Barton were shifting almost anxiously in their seats. “No fighting at the table. Let’s just agree to disagree and move on for now. I believe J.A.R.V.I.S. still has more to share. Don’t you, buddy?”

The AI picked up the conversation as if there hadn’t been any sort of interruption, “Yes, sir. Upon further review, the video logs sent in the data transfer appear to be recordings from some of Captain Lastimosa’s combat operations.”

“How many did she send over?” Steve asked.

“Eight logs have been received,” J.A.R.V.I.S. reported. “Though, RA-5172 has implied that should further footage be required there are several more that can be forwarded. Would you be interested in watching one of the videos at this time, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, glancing around the room. “Do we want to watch one? We’ve got the time.”

Bruce would admit that he was quite interested in seeing Lastimosa in action without the necessity of being in the middle of a fight. The recordings from the Iron Man Suit had been illuminating and he was eager to see what the woman could do. It would also mostly likely allow the Team as a whole to get a better sense of how the Pilot fought and develop possible strategies to subduing her. But he didn’t really want to think of it that way. He didn’t want to assume that things would go wrong and they’d have to fight her. He most certainly didn’t want to think of what the Hulk might be possible of doing against a combatant as agile and intelligent as the woman had proved herself to be.

Her nimbleness would be sure to irritate the Big Guy to no end.

“I’m down for watching one,” Sam said. “Woman fights like she’s in some sort of science-fiction action movie and that’s damn cool to see.”

“It might also give us a better idea of how Titans are utilized in combat,” Clint commented wisely and Natasha was quick to nod her head in agreement with her fellow spy’s remark. While, at the same time, a sparkle of interest began to glitter in Stark’s eyes at the thought of the enormous robot and all of the information that might be uncovered about how it functioned and operated.

It was only Steve that looked conflicted, but he nodded his head in assent to Stark.

“Alright then,” the multi-billionaire said with a bright smile. “We’re all in agreement. Movie time. Go ahead and play one, J.”

“Of course, sir,” the AI said and the documents on the display screen switched over to a black screen with the white triangle of a play button in the center. “This particular one has the earliest timestamp, and I believe that will be the wisest place for us to begin. It is logged as having happened approximately seven years ago and is filed under the name: Operation FRACTURE – Refueling Raid on Planet Victor.”

A brief circle spun on the screen as the video buffered momentarily and then it began.

And what they then saw was a first-person view out of a window unlike anything any of them had ever seen before. The massive shape of what could only be a spaceship, sharp lines of metallic gray plating accented with vibrant stripes of orange and red, with bold white lettering written across the hull. The MCS _Redeye_. The backdrop beyond the ship was the swirling green cloud of a nebula with smaller ships, not all too dissimilar from Lastimosa’s own dropship, but far smaller and more skeletal in their design. Three of those ships were arranged in a line and it became obvious that Lastimosa – if this was actually from her perspective – was riding in another if the muffled drone of engines was to be believed.

Their view shifted with Lastimosa’s head turning and revealed the other occupants of the dropship. Just the barest hint of the heads of two pilots at the front of the ship in their chairs, a stern looking woman in jumpsuit of smudged sky blue and larger man sitting down on a bench looking over a tablet of some sort. Standing in the troop compartment of the ship, however, were five more people – four men and one other woman – all kitted up in their futuristic tactical gear, helmets included, all in shades of mossy green, muddy brown and blazing orange.

And each and every one of them was armed to the teeth with guns, knives and grenades.

The HUD within Lastimosa’s helmet, which had only been showing a blank mini-map and a read-out of information on her weapons, suddenly lit up with names above all of her fellow Pilots’ heads.

Abigail Himura, Carlisle Carter, Jason Matthews, Ryan Hakik and Aleksander Roycewicz.

Those names as Lastimosa’s gaze passed over them abbreviated themselves to just their last names and stacked up on the left-hand side of the screen. This must’ve been her team for this operation.

_“Jump Control, this is Phantom One. Flight is green. Fifty klicks from IP links. KPS is 2.25. Over.”_

_“Roger, Phantom One. Proceed to links. Then track Radio 1-4-9. Align to primary JP and sound off.”_

_“Two, standing by.”_

_“Three, good to go.”_

_“Roger that. All Flights, initiate jump sequence.”_

_“Jumping in 3… 2… 1… Mark!”_

The video recording blurred – stretching and twisting as a great white shape sudden swam in the middle and smaller white sparks zoomed in from the sides – as the dropship’s engines whined higher and higher until there was a loud snap of sudden sound. Like a muffled sonic boom. The screen went pure white for a split second before a sense of normal vision reoriented itself. The camera’s view turned to the right and the view in the window had changed into the cloud-obscured upper atmosphere of a planet.

“Dammit, I fuckin’ hate that feelin’,” the male Pilot named Carter – who was the tallest amongst them – grumbled in a deep and unmistakably southern accent. “Makes me dizzy every time.”

“Quit ya bitching, Carly,” another one of the men – Matthews – commented snappishly, his voice thick with an Irish brogue. “When ya gunna man-up like the rest o’ us. Hell… Even Abs has more balls than you sometimes.”

“Abs has more balls than all of us combined, Jay,” a third of the male Pilots – Hakik – interrupted wryly as his head turned in Lastimosa’s direction. “Isn’t that right, Last? You’re the poor bastard dating her.”

The woman barked a short, but raucous, laugh. “Shouldn’t you boys know this by now?” she asked, her voice sounding far lighter and happier than anyone in the room had ever heard it before. “She definitely wears the pants in our relationship. Can’t get away with anything anymore. And she just loves to try and top from the bottom.”

Bruce startled slightly, so engrossed in the video as to have shut out the world around him, as he heard a sudden – but stifled – choking sound from his left and looked over to spot the Captain. The blonde super-soldier appeared to have the barest hints of a flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears seemed to have gone a bit pink. Had he been shocked to hear Lastimosa openly admitting to being a sexual relationship with another woman? Surely, the man’s attitude towards homosexual relationships had caught up with that of modern times by now? Or was it a more personal matter than that?

Bruce was rather sure that it was that secondary option that was the more believable. The scientist certainly wasn’t blind enough to not notice the tension and restrained longing that Steve always seemed to display when James Barnes was around or at the forefront of his mind. And with Barnes being so mentally and physically attached to Lastimosa…

“Hey, Roy!” The sharpness of Lastimosa’s voice snagged Bruce’s attention once more and he looked back to the screen. The woman was looking at the fourth of the men that were on her team. “One of your jump kit straps looks like it’s starting to fray.”

The man, the shortest of the bunch, began to frantically pat down the area around his waist, hips and thighs with gloved hands. “Fuck! Where? Where is it? Knew I should’ve…”

A softly feminine and lightly accented – Japanese, perhaps? – voice interrupted, “Calm down, Roy. She’s just messing with you.” The second woman, a truly petite figure even underneath all of the layers of tactical gear and hefting an enormous anti-material rifle in her hands turned her helmeted focus onto Lastimosa. “And you, try to behave yourself for once.”

Lastimosa chuckled playfully, bringing a gloved hand up to her forehead in a jaunty two-fingered salute. “Yes, ma’am,” she vowed, but clearly didn’t mean it in the slightest.

“When is Last not pulling a fast one on Roy?” Hakik asked rhetorically to the occupants of the dropship.

“Some fireteam leader you are?” Roycewicz hissed. “Gunna make me shit myself one of these days you keep doing stuff like that.”

“It’s not that hard to do, Roy. You’re just so easy to frazzle,” Lastimosa reported bluntly, before her attention snapped towards the short haired woman in the blue jumpsuit, who wore a red bandana wrapped around her forehead to keep the spiky brown locks of her hair contained. The woman, who was clearly a commanding office of some sort, marched to the back of the ship before turning back to address Lastimosa’s team.

“Listen up,” the woman announced. “The civilian fleet’s right behind us and most of the ships are running on nothing but fumes right now. We’re out of options. So, it’s now or never.”

“Don’t worry so much, Briggs,” Lastimosa barked with an air of surety. “We’ll handle it. And when has Fireteam Prowler ever let you down before.”

“Never. And that’s why you’re getting the toughest job to secure fuel for the _Redeye_.” The short-haired woman yanked on a nearby lever and the ramp at the back opened. Gusts of wind raced into the cabin and everything being said became that much harder to hear. “You all know that we need this fuel or none of us are going to make it! The Fleet’s counting on you! Go! Go! Go!”

Briggs stepped to the side and waved the team out into the open air.

“Let’s go kick some IMC ass, ladies!” Lastimosa yelled, lunging forward and leaping out of the dropship without a trace of hesitation. The view tilted down to what was well over a three-hundred-foot drop, before look out across the surrounding area to take in the lay of the land.

A motley spread of half-destroyed buildings across a sizable expanse of dying grassland, with shattered roads winding between them all. The face of a cliff off to one side and what might have been civilian homes on the other. But it looked all but abandoned now and in great need of repair. Except, of course, for the three enormous anti-aircraft defense turrets that seemed to have been a more recent addition.

The ground was approaching quickly and Lastimosa shifted her weight backward to bring her feet around to point downwards. She landed with a muffled thump and a brief exhalation of air in time with the impact, before her gaze looked to either side as the rest of her team landed with similar amounts of grace. A swarm of other soldiers, who did not look to be Pilots, had gathered in front of them and were listening to a man seated in the cockpit what could only have been a Titan.

“McCord, take your squad up this road!” the man in the Titan ordered as Lastimosa’s HUD named him as Captain Dunham. “The rest of you move through this building behind me and secure the area!”

The soldier moved off to comply with the orders, while the six-man fireteam of Pilots gathered up to make their own plan of attack.

 _“Okay, Prowler,”_ a male voice chimed in over the radio. “ _This is gunna be a Hardpoint Operation. Take control of as many hardpoints as you can, patch me in and I’ll take care of the rest. We’ve gotta get this fuel pumping quick and keep the anti-air offline.”_

“On it, Bish. We’ll get it done,” Lastimosa replied, settling her gaze on her team. “Roy and Abs, your taking Hardpoint Charlie. Carly and Jay, you get Bravo. Hack, you’re with me. We’re taking Alpha. Once we get them under control, we’ll see what needs to be done to keep it that way.”

They broke off into their pairs, with Lastimosa and her partner racing along the road after a troop of soldiers and Dunham in his Titan. Another Titan, painted in white and red, came barreling around a corner and engaged with Dunham, both firing their enormous guns at one another.

“Hack, you wanna take it?” Lastimosa asked, barely out of breath as the thunderous boom of the anti-aircraft guns began to sound off. “No. You know what? Go to Alpha and get to work. I’ll help Dunham.”

“Got it. Don’t get dead,” Hakik grunted out before his jump kit flared and he was jumping nearly twenty feet up onto a nearby rooftop. Lastimosa altered her course, bringing her gun up and mowing down a trio of white-clad soldiers, before she was closing with the white-colored Titan. She wall-ran across a building, jumping on top of the twenty-foot construct’s body to rip away a sheet of plating. A mess of circuitry and wires was revealed and she shoved the muzzle of her gun into it all and pulled the trigger.

A status bar on her HUD began to go down and down and down before eventually, after a magazine and half in combination with Dunham’s continued fire the bar turned black and yellow and then an ominous crimson. Lastimosa disengaged, back-flipping off of the Titan and sprinting away as quickly as her feet could carry her. The distinctive sound of an explosion took place just behind her, but she never looked back and just continued on running to rejoin her teammate.

_“This is the Redeye! We’re taking a lot of flak! Bish, we need those turrets offline ASAP!”_

The two Pilots joined up inside of the furthest building and killed all of those soldiers in white that were clustered around an array of screens and servers. While Hakik got to work on the technology, Lastimosa turned her back on him and kept watch with her gun up and at the ready.

_“Charlie is secure.”_

_“Bravo is ours too.”_

“Alpha is locked down,” Hakik reported over the radio.

_“Good work, team. And… the Air Defense Network is down. Accessing the fueling systems. And… done! Pumps are online and the Redeye is taking on fuel. Now defend that hardpoint so we don’t lose control.”_

“Copy that, Bish.”

Sam had been quite correct when saying that the way Lastimosa fought was like something out of a high-budget action movie. Bruce watched with begrudging interest and admiration as the woman ran, leapt and gunned down anyone that came up against her. Swapping magazines out of her gun with practiced efficiency, tossing grenades into dense clusters of enemies and racing around the area at a speed that no one other than another Pilot could even hope to try and match.

 _“Pilot, be advised, your Titan will be ready in thirty seconds,”_ the voice of the woman from before, the one called Briggs, came over the radio and a huff of acknowledgement escaped Lastimosa as she ran along the exterior of one of the broken buildings.

 _“Last, you’ve got an IMC Pilot on your ass. Fifteen meters back,”_ the voice of Abigail Himura said and there was a slight jerk to Lastimosa’s head as she instinctually tried to look over her shoulder. _“No, don’t look. He doesn’t realize you know yet. I don’t have a clear shot, but there some scaffolding up ahead of you. Do that weird flip-thing and get the drop on him.”_

“Oh, Abs, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Lastimosa purred, pushing herself to greater speed and altering her course for the aforementioned scaffolding.

She hit the top rail, reaching down with one of her hands and pushing herself up and over into a front flip. Their view of the world from the helmet’s camera spun in time. Her other hand, clenched around her gun, pulled down on the trigger as her sights lined up with the charging enemy Pilot. A spray of bullets caught him in the abdomen and across his chest. One of his legs collapsed out from underneath him as he stumbled and fell, rolling onto the roof of the building with a shout of pain.

But he hadn’t been killed, only seriously injured.

Lastimosa finished the flip, landing on the balls of her feet with only a slight stumble, before she spun around and trained her gun back on her writhing enemy. For some reason she didn’t shoot him right then and there, instead walking to stand over him. Though, the sight-line of her gun never wavered from his helmeted head.

“Terrorist bitch,” the man hissed out, before beginning a series of wet and hacking coughs as blood was undoubtedly already beginning to pool in his lead perforated lungs.

“That’s not very nice,” Lastimosa grumbled, letting out a huff of breath as she sunk down into a crouch next to the dying man. “But none of you IMC assholes seem to have any manners. Nah. Nothing matters except for the company’s bottom line, right? That’s why you raze farms, steal crops, poison our water and kill those that you deem to be inconvenient. That’s why you mine our planets for fuel and minerals until there’s nothing left for us.” She pressed the barrel of her gun to the forehead of his helmet. “And that’s why we’ll keep on killing all of you until you finally get it that we won’t let you take our planets. We’ll keep killing until you get smart and go back to the Core Worlds where you belong and stay there.”

She pulled the trigger and in the blink of an eye she was back on the move.

_“Hey! Your Titan’s good to go. Call it when ready.”_

“Send it now, Briggs. Right on my location,” Lastimosa ordered and the camera’s view tilted up towards the sky. A sky that was full of spaceships in all sorts of sizes and shapes and filled with the roar of their thrusters and engines.

From one of the ships a bright flare of orange light came careening down at incredible speed. A casing of metal exploding off of the fire-encased object to reveal a Titan of very similar design to the one Captain Dunham had been piloting. It crashed into the ground with an equally loud sound of impact, only muffled to tolerable levels by the helmet, as plumes of dirt and rock were sent up from the crater. A dome of blue light – a shield of some sort – encased the Titan, but Lastimosa ran through it without fear and leapt into the cockpit of her Titan.

 _“Relinquishing control to Pilot,”_ the enormous machine said emotionlessly, though the voice sounded quite similar to Lastimosa’s current Titan, RA-5172.

“Got my Atlas. Where am I needed?”

 _“An Ogre and Stryder are advancing on Bravo and our Titans aren’t ready yet,”_ Matthews barked over the radio with the telltale sound of large mechanical footsteps thundering in the background, along with close gunfire – both human and Titan – and the whoosh of jump kit thrusters.

“On my way.”

Lastimosa thundered forward in her Titan, controlling the giant robot with as much ease as she would her own body, the enormous gun in her metal hands up at the ready. She rounded a corner, ignoring the screams of those she purposefully trampled under the feet of her Titan, and caught sight of two of her fireteam members zipping back and forth. They were both firing on the soldiers swarming their position and the two different looking Titans on approach a short distance away.

_“Warning. Multiple threats attacking.”_

The battle between the three Titans, which for all intents and purposes was not in Lastimosa’s favor, played out on the screen in a cacophony of explosions and the ear-piercing screech of metal on metal. They exchanged fire, circling around each other as the blonde woman played to her strengths, targeting the joints of her opponents, catching their bullets and rockets in a circular shield of blue energy before flinging it back at them with a flick of her wrist.

_“This is the Redeye! Bish, we’re at fifty percent hull integrity and dropping fast!_

The slimmer Titan was the first to fall, caught off-guard by a barrage of missiles when it tried to circle around Lastimosa with its seemingly superior speed and maneuverability. The plating on the cockpit was warped out of place and before the occupant could escape, Lastimosa plunged her Titan’s four-fingered hand through the weakened metal and snagged the enemy Pilot in her metal fist.

Heedless of the man’s screams of terror, she flung the flailing body at her remaining opponent – the larger and bulkier model of Titan – and used the distraction to close the distance at a lumbering sprint.

_“Enemy Pilot eliminated.”_

The two engaged in what could only be compared to an all-out barroom brawl of a wrestling match. Both ripping and tearing at each other’s external plating and slamming their fists into each other with devastating force. The status bar on the Lastimosa’s Titan was getting dangerously low, slipping over into the black and yellow striped bar just as her opponents did the same.

 _“Second Ogre closing in on your six, Last!”_ one of her teammates shouted over the comm.

“Good. I’ll fuckin’ nuke him too. Clear the area around Bravo. I’m ejecting.” The view shifted downwards and she reached for the bright red lever between her legs and pulled it. Explosive force sent the woman flying into the air, well over two hundred feet straight up, and the camera took in the full expanse of the battlefield. Beneath her, Lastimosa’s Titan detonated and destroyed both the damaged Ogre and the second one that had been rushing her from behind in a wave of intense fire and shrapnel.

Suddenly there was another body soaring up into the air nearby. A female IMC Pilot in her white tactical gear – possibly belonging to one of the Ogres that Lastimosa had just demolished – and the two women began to engage in a furious gunfight while they fell. A lucky shot killed the other Pilot, but Lastimosa didn’t escape unscathed as injury notifications appeared on her HUD.

She landed hard, sinking down onto one knee as one of the bullet wounds – a graze across her right calf – took its toll. Limping slightly over to cover, Lastimosa patched the wounds as best she could before rejoining the fight without a single word of complaint. Running and gunning once more until the radio channel crackled to life once more.

 _“All right, we got what we came for! Awesome work, team. Mission accomplished_.”

_“We’ve beaten the IMC, but the battle’s not over! Intercept any stragglers before they get away!”_

What followed was a frantic scurry of the remaining Militia forces, Lastimosa included, to lay into the dropships that had returned to attempt to evacuate the surviving IMC soldier and Pilots. Some of the ships escaped, but a majority of them were shot out of the sky by those Militia Titans that were still operational on the field.

Only once the IMC had fled did the green colored dropships of the Militia return and Lastimosa’s team gathered together to board. The woman in the blue jumpsuit and the rotund Asian looking man were inside the dropship and they quickly ascended into the sky to return to the fleet.

“Well, the fleet’s got enough fuel to get through another month,” the man said as he scrolled through his tablet once more, with Lastimosa limping over to look at the screen’s readouts for herself.

“That was chaos down there, Bish,” Briggs groused. “Our tactics are a mess.”

“Sarah, neither of us have any experience leading a force of this size,” the man protested, looking up from the screen to meet the woman’s hard gaze. “With General Anderson dead…”

“Then we’re gonna have to work with what we’ve got. We can’t let the IMC get ahead of us.”

“Briggs. Bish. Stop snapping at each other’s throats,” Lastimosa interrupted sharply as she removed her helmet. The camera view jostled around until it was balanced on what might’ve been her stomach and looking up towards her face. Her bronzed skin was drenched in sweat, gray-green eyes blazing with the adrenaline of the fight and her hair – cut far shorter than it was now – sticking straight up in a wild array of sweat-slicked, blonde curls and spikes. “We’ll figure it out. For now, we just have to keep on moving and keep on winning and helping our people.”

The screen went dark as the video came to an end and the lights in the room turned back on to full brightness, which had Bruce squinting his eyes as they began to water. He rubbed at his eyes to clear away the moisture and chanced a glanced around the room. None of the others looked particularly happy. But as to what about the video it was that had them upset, he couldn’t be entirely sure.

It had been quite a lot to comprehend.

Personally, the scientist was unnerved by the sheer violence of the conflict. To see Lastimosa taking so many lives without a second of doubt or indecision was eye-opening. To watch as she used her Titan’s superior size, weight and strength to literally crush men and women beneath her feet… It could have just as easily been the Hulk doing those things. Perhaps that was why he was so uncomfortable all of a sudden. There were too many similarities that he could pull together and connect between himself and the woman from another reality.

At least when she was in her Titan, Banner could see the obvious parallels.

Banner turned his eyes onto his teammates to try and decipher their thoughts.

Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff looked grim, with mirrored scowls and furrowed brows on each of their faces, but they also appeared thoughtful at the same time. Digesting the information with all of their considerable years of experience in the ways of spy-craft to come their own conclusions about the new woman.

Sam Wilson was still staring at the display screen, wide-eyed yet almost unseeing, as he probably tried to wrap his head around the contents of the video in his own way. Despite his usage of the EXO-7 Falcon Winged Jetpack and his history in the United States Air Force, the African-American man was still a relative newcomer into the world of superheroes. Wilson could still be considered to be going through his period of adjustment. Surely the weighty footage was mind boggling for the inexperienced?

Hell, it was overwhelming even for those that were supposed to used to all this by now!

Tony Stark looked troubled. There was a similar scowl and furrowed brows on his face as there was on the faces of the super-spies, but his eyes were hardened by what looked almost like guilt. Was it the fact that the multi-billionaire and genius engineer extraordinaire had found similarities between the IMC and the former business practices of Stark Industries? Was it that a company was responsible for the warfare that had engulfed Lastimosa’s home and killed who knows how many of her friends and family?

Bruce couldn’t hope to know. Though, he resolved himself to sit down and have a talk with Tony soon. After the events with A.I.M. and Extremis, Stark had taken to talking to the dark-haired scientist as one would a therapist. And while he wasn’t really qualified for such a thing, as the man’s friend, Bruce was inclined to offer whatever help he could in whatever way he could to ease Tony’s consciousness.

But it was in Captain Rogers’ face that Bruce found the most difficulty. Even as he watched covertly, the scientist struggled to determine what it was that the blond super-soldier was thinking. His mouth was pulled down into the slightest of grimaces, and yet there was no true trace of anger or judgement on the man’s face. Instead he seemed almost distraught, but it was hard to tell from the downward angle Steve was holding his face at. His chin tilted downwards and his eyes trained onto his denim-clad knees.

Was he grieved by Lastimosa’s bloody past? Surely the woman had lived a life fraught with violence and had well over seven years’ worth of combat experience. A number which was chronologically far more than even the Captain himself had under his belt. But Bruce just couldn’t be sure…

However, he was almost certain that the Captain would seeking out the woman in the near future to speak with her about what he had just witnessed. To ask questions and offer comfort.

Steve liked to solve problems. He would so willingly throw himself into danger to lend a helping hand to anyone he thought he could. And if the video had made one thing clear, it was that Lastimosa definitely needed their help and Bruce knew that Rogers would be utterly unable to resist the siren call of the lost woman’s troubles.

Especially because James Buchanan Barnes was tangled up in them as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof! This was a big one. I had no intentions of writing such an absolute monster of a chapter, but apparently dear Dr. Banner wanted it to be a long one. I briefly even considered cutting it in half after I was done writing and saw the word count, but opted to keep it in one piece to maintain the flow of the story. So, yeah... Enjoy almost 10k, my dear people. 
> 
> And so, Rhiannon's reason for super-soldier-y-ness is revealed and how she measures up - approximately - against Steve and Bucky. Nanites are actually a pretty common theory for Titanfall Pilots actually, but with my own little twist. We've got that and a few more facts revealed from Rhia's history, especially the identities of her fireteam members and her girlfriend. 
> 
> Fun Fact: When I first started writing the outline for this chapter I was going to actually use the Titanfall 1 Mission called The Colony for the video, because it's way grittier and more brutal and definitely makes the IMC look like the absolute assholes they are. But that night I had a dream about Rhia pulling that flip trick on the IMC Pilot and then nuking the fuck out of some Titans on the Fracture Map. So, I changed it because my subconsciousness decreed that it must be so and the dream was fucking awesome to watch. Trust in your dreams when they give you good plot ideas.
> 
> Additional Thing: If you're looking for a quick laugh check out my new profile image. I was scrolling through some Steve and Bucky memes and found that little gem.


	13. Chapter 13

**1010 HOURS | NOVEMBER 20, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

“I think you should be the one to reach out to Barnes first.”

Clint Barton, master archer and ex-international spy turned superhero, nearly spat out his coffee.

Which would have been a terrible waste of the life-giving and sanity-bestowing bean juice.

He looked across the granite countertop of the island in the shared kitchen, one of the many rooms that made up the shared living spaces in the new Avengers Compound. His fellow spy and partner for many years – a woman he considered as one of his best and most trusted friends – met his gaze blandly as if she hadn’t just said something absolutely, completely ridiculous.

“Say what now?” he asked, feeling the urge to check his ears to make sure that he had remember to put his hearing aids in that morning. He was certain that he had. But why else would he think that he had heard her say what he thought he heard her say if he wasn’t already half-deaf at the time?

“You should be the one to talk to Barnes. You’re the best choice,” Natasha explained, taking a sip of her own coffee with a mostly bland expression except for the slightest raise of one of her well-groomed eyebrows. Apparently, he hadn’t misheard and Romanoff was choosing to speak nonsense today.

“Why? How am I the best choice? I don’t…”

“Clint, come on. Don’t be dense,” the red-head said, completely unphased by his attempt at wriggling his way out of the situation. “Thor’s gone back to Asgard. Steve and Sam are in the city. Stark and Bruce are busy with that piece of alien tech Lastimosa wants them to look at and who knows how many other projects they both have going on. And then there’s you…”

“But what about you?” the sandy-haired archer argued. Surely the Black Widow would be a better match to speak with the Winter Soldier. “You and Barnes have plenty in common that you could talk about and become the bestest of friends over.”

She seemed unimpressed – and almost saddened – by his suggestion. “You know as well as I do that Barnes and I are far too alike,” she said. “I’m quite sure that will be more of a hinderance than a help.”

Clint believed her and was suddenly sorry to have brought it up at all.

He knew that Natasha often felt a great deal of shame over her bloody past with the Red Room and had been trying her best to stay on the straight and narrow for the past decade. Using her ill-gotten talents for the forces of good. The whole issue with S.H.I.E.L.D. actually turning out to be HYDRA had put an inadvertently serious dent in the red-head’s usually unshakable confidence.

Though, Clint wasn’t exactly enthused to have been the one singled out to have to talk to the Winter Soldier. But, in the same vein, it was about time that someone reached out and made contact. The pair of new super-soldiers had been in residence at the Compound for five days now and had barely been seen out and about except for at meal times.

Lastimosa, by far, was the more social of the two. The blonde woman actually went out of her way to at least say hello and make small-talk with anyone she came across. Barnes on the other hand… You were lucky if you got more than ten words out of the metal-armed World War II veteran turned assassin. Even Lastimosa’s Titan seemed to be a more accomplished conversationalist and Clint had only spoken with it – him – all of twice during their time removing all of the ammunition and weapons from the dropship.

“What are we supposed to even talk about?” he asked, resigning himself to his fate, but drawing a blank on what he might possibly have in common with the HYDRA super-assassin.

“You’re both expert marksmen – snipers – regardless of the fact that he prefers a rifle and you a bow,” Natasha offered, making her own helpful suggestions. “But what I think you should really end up talking to him about is when you were under Loki’s control in 2012.”

Clint’s face fell into a hard mask at her words, with his lips pulled thin and his eyes narrowed down to a flinty-eyed stare. He even felt one of the muscles in his jaw twitch as he resisted the urge to grind his teeth. “You know I don’t like talking about that, Tasha,” he whispered lowly, almost threateningly, as he was far from willing to talk about one of his darkness moments with a complete stranger.

The feeling of not having any control over his own body. Seeing himself killing innocent people on the orders of a madman from another world. Watching himself as he actively tried to kill one of the people he cared most about in the entire world. It had been a waking nightmare to experience and had taken months and months of therapy to mend even some of the damage that it had done to his psyche. Even now he wasn’t fully recovered and suffered from nightmares or the occasional triggered flashback.

“That’s the point,” Natasha urged, trying to win him over with the sound logic. “You know what it’s like. Share your experience and break the ice to see if you can get him to open up about his time being controlled by HYDRA. Establish a connection to try and start getting him to relax around us. It’ll only make things that much easier in the long run.”

It made sense, though Clint didn’t much want to acknowledge it. However, it seemed like he wasn’t going to be given the chance to refuse on the simple and narrow-minded basis of “I don’t want to.”

It wouldn’t do any harm to try and start making friends with both Lastimosa and Barnes, and the metal-armed assassin was by far going to be the harder nut to crack. But both of the former-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents turned Avengers knew that should Steven Grant Rogers have his way James Buchanan Barnes was going to be a permanent fixture in their day-to-day lives for the foreseeable future.

“Fine, fine. I’ll do it,” he said, gulping down the final dregs of his coffee before wandering over to put the mug into the dishwasher. He refused to look behind him and witness Natasha’s smug look of triumph. “Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S. Where’s Barnes at right now?” he asked, tilting his head a bit towards the ceiling out of instinct when addressing the Stark-made artificial intelligence.

“Sergeant Barnes is currently within Captain Lastimosa’s suite, Agent Barton.”

“Is Lastimosa there too?” Natasha asked curiously.

“No, Agent Romanoff,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied. “Captain Lastimosa is currently speaking with both Mister Stark and Doctor Banner in regards to the alien technology that brought her to our reality. I expect the conversation between them will last for some time.”

“See? Look,” the red-head said. “Now’s the perfect opportunity. He’s alone and Lastimosa will be out of the picture for a while.”

The archer huffed a heavy sigh, bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing vigorously at his cheeks in an attempt to wipe away any amount of residual tiredness. Guess this was happening right now. Oh, he was so not prepared for this at all and still didn’t particular want to do it, but it was for the greater good.

“Alright, alright. I’m going. I’m going,” he said, raising a hand in farewell before leaving the kitchen and heading down towards the hall to the living quarters. But he couldn’t resist giving a parting shot. “And if I end up dying in some horrible and gruesome manner because I tried to talk about feelings with the Winter Soldier, you better avenge me, Romanoff, or I’ll be coming back to haunt your ass!”

Clint walked away with Natasha’s quiet laughter ringing in his ears and wondered just how did this become his life. Things had been so much simpler when he had been running with the circus.

It was a short walk, literally not more than a minute at a leisurely pace, and Clint made sure to drag his heels to allow enough time for him to formulate some sort of a plan and psych himself up. In the corner of his mind he even wondered if he should return to his own room and get a weapon for self-defense purposes. Not a gun or anything… But maybe a knife? Just a little one that he could hide somewhere on his person?

Ultimately, however, he decided not to. He had to keep thinking positively about all this. Everything was gunna go just fine and Barnes wasn’t going to go off the rails and maim him.

And then he was standing outside of Lastimosa’s room with his hand up and ready to knock on the door. Clint paused, loose fist hanging in the air, before he opted to have J.A.R.V.I.S. ask on his behalf instead.

“Hey, J.A.R.V.I.S. Uh – Wanna ask if it’s alright if I come in?”

“Of course, Agent Barton.”

A moment of pause.

“Sergeant Barnes has said that you may enter,” the AI announced and Clint was honestly surprised that the super-assassin had been willing to allow someone who wasn’t Lastimosa into the room.

He opened the door and bore witness to something that he had most certainly not been expecting.

All of the suites shared the same basic layout: the first room was a sizable living room that transitioned into an open concept, high-end kitchen and dining room combination. Then, of course, there were the trio of side rooms, which included a spacious bedroom, a luxurious bathroom and a well-proportioned laundry room that also functioned as a place for additional storage. The arrangement of the rooms was ever so slightly different for each of them and the organization of the furniture was also changed.

But there, smack dab in the middle of Lastimosa’s living room and surrounded by a veritable spread of gun parts and the paraphernalia to clean said gun parts, sat James Buchanan Barnes…

In his pajamas.

It was so startling a sight that Clint just stood there dumbstruck for a handful of weighty seconds as he took in the scene and all of its bizarre details.

The brown-haired, metal-armed assassin was sitting with his legs crossed on a plush area rug that was spread out underneath a glass-top coffee table. Wearing a dark gray long-sleeve and a pair of blue plaid flannel pants, he was a picture of relaxed comfort except for the wholly unreadable expression on his face. Barnes had even pulled his hair up into a messy bun at the back of his head, though several strands that were too short to reach all the way back hung loose. It even looked as though the former HYDRA enforcer had recently shaved because there was nothing more than the faintest shadowy hint of stubble on his squared jaw and slightly cleft chin.

“Are you going to come in or just stand there all day?”

The quiet question broke the archer from his stupor and he realized that he had in fact just being standing like a moron in the doorway.

“Sorry,” Clint said as he stepped through and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t mean to…”

“What do you want?” Barnes asked, setting down the disassembled rifle in his grasp to focus all of his attention on someone that he might’ve been perceiving as an intruder, regardless of the fact that his permission to enter had been given.

Clint ignored the rudeness of the question, hardly expecting the man after all that he’d been through to be the height of civility, as he gave his explanation, “Just wanted to swing by. Check in. See how you’re doing. How you’re settling in.”

“Why?”

“Why not? We aren’t enemies. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that we could even be friends eventually,” Clint suggested with a surprisingly great deal of sincerity. Just because he hadn’t been enthusiastically onboard about talking to Barnes in the beginning didn’t mean that he was going to be an ass about it. The poor guy was already confined to the Compound and still recovering from being under the yoke of HYDRA. There wasn’t any reason to make his situation any worse than it already was. “It was actually brought up that you and I have a few things in common.”

Barnes head tilted slight to the side as his eyes narrowed in suspicion, bringing his hands up to rest with his fingers laced together on the glass of the coffee table. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Clint stepped a little further into the living room, casting his eyes around for sate his habitual need for situational awareness, before answering. “Well, we’re both snipers for one.”

Barnes scoffed under his breath. “You use a bow.”

“And yet I can still make a shot over 300 yards away to take down an enemy,” Clint argued in defense of his precious and peerless archery skills. “That’s no different than what you can do with a rifle.”

The dark-haired man stayed silent, seeming to be thinking deeply about something if the furrow of his brows was anything to go by. Clint lingered awkwardly several feet away, more than willing to give the man all the time he needed, but after a bit he got tired of just standing around.

“Do you mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing towards one of the nearby arm chairs.

“Whatever,” Barnes said with a shrug of his broad shoulders, glancing over Clint one more time with an assessing and steely eyed stare before tentatively going back to work on cleaning the rifle.

“So… uh… name’s Clint. Clint Barton,” the archer said as he took a seat, realizing that he and the former Winter Soldier had never been properly introduced to one another in all of their prior interactions. It had all been second-hand conversations surrounded by other people – often in the middle of a stressful situation –with no time for everyone to be going around the circle introducing themselves like they were playing the name game from school.

“I know who you are,” Barnes said bluntly. “Just like you know who I am.”

“Yeah, but still…” Clint began to argue. “Doesn’t mean you can’t introduce yourself on your own terms. Isn’t that what this is all about? Making your own choices? New beginning and all that?” He paused for a moment. “So, what do you want to be called? Lastimosa calls you Barnes, your given name is James and Cap tends to call you either Bucky or Buck. Which do you prefer?”

The man’s hands – the metal on his ungloved left gleaming in the morning sunlight coming in through the windows – stilled as he looked up from the gun with a puzzled expression. “You’re asking…”

“Yeah… I’m asking what _you_ want to be called,” Clint said. “It’s not rocket science.”

“No one but Rhia’s ever asked,” Barnes paused, a sad sort of frown edging its way onto his face. “Steve… He – He just assumed that he could call me Bucky right from the start. Like I’m actually still him.”

“Aren’t you?” Clint asked.

“No,” Barnes snapped out angrily, before the anger transitioned into something more akin to worry or some sort of self-reflection. “But… There are some days when I feel more like him. Where I think more like he probably used to think. Even talk like he did… sometimes.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? A sign that your mind is healing?”

Clint looked on as the man glanced down at the surface of the table, watching as a myriad of facial tics swept over his features. Brows twitching, nose flaring slightly, his lips being pulled thin and downwards and the faintest twitch of his jaw muscles. Eventually those gray-blues flickered back up though the man’s expression was still stormy with indecision and barely restrained muddle of too many emotions.

“I don’t know,” Barnes admitted softly.

“That can be okay too,” Clint offered as comfortingly as he could. “It’s alright to not know sometimes.”

A hush fell in the apartment as the metal-armed man went back to work on the firearm and Clint settled back into the chair to make himself more comfortable. He observed the man as he cleaned the rifle. Studying the methodical way Barnes worked through each piece of the broken-down rifle, inspecting them all before going over them meticulously with oil, rag and brush. Eventually, the archer felt restless and the desire to do something with his hands to keep himself occupied in the silence.

“You want some help?” he offered, gesturing towards the collection of disassembled firearms – which he could recognize only by type but not by model. Despite his preference and undeniable favoritism for the bow, Clint was just as familiar and skilled with guns and was a more than experienced hand with cleaning them.

“If you want, but most of these are Rhia’s so they’re a little… different,” Barnes warned cautiously. With the information in hand, Clint found himself curious about what the possible differences between their guns and the guns used in Lastimosa’s alternate future reality might be. “You can start with the EVA-8,” the darker-haired man offered as he gestured to what was undeniably a shotgun. “It’s built a bit like a SPAS-12, so it should be pretty similar to our guns.”

Clint accepted the offer, collecting those tools that he would need for cleaning, before reaching over to lift the surprisingly heavy shotgun from its place and bring it closer. The archer found a unique form of solace in the mindless action of his hands as he broke the weapon down into its components. As easy as breathing, despite the weapon’s foreign origins.

However, all the while he began to work, Clint began to think about how in the hell he was going to bring up the subject of brainwashing and mind control with the former Winter Soldier.

* * *

James Barnes had been having an uncommonly good day.

He had slept for a solid five hours without a single interruption. Not a single nightmare had disturbed his rest and he had woken at 0600 feeling far better than he had in recent memory. Well rested was a state of being that he could stand to happen with far greater frequency than it currently did.

And so, he’d showered and shaved, but had felt unmotivated to change out of his comfortable sleeping clothes. Rhia had made mention of plans to spend the day relaxing in her rooms the previous evening. To just sit around after they’d both eaten breakfast, cleaning the guns they had removed from the dropship and watching some television or a movie… Or five.

He had recently reawakened his former passion for science fiction and it yearned to be satisfied.

And while it often felt unnatural to be in such a relaxed state – to not be doing something physical to keep his mind off of the things – he couldn’t deny that sometimes the leisure was kind of nice. A change of pace that he had taken to enjoying when his mind and body were in an agreeable state. And this was the first time since their relocation to the Avengers Compound that he had felt comfortable enough to do so, but only with the reassuring presence of Rhia nearby.

The woman who had saved him, who had offered him her help without judgement, and had quickly become someone he considered a friend… at the very least. She had definitely become someone he trusted and cared about more than he thought he could have in his damaged state.

But then, only an hour into their project, Rhia had been called away by Stark and Banner to discuss the finer details of the piece of alien technology that had brought her to their Earth. She had been reluctant to leave, but he had waved her off and sent her on her way. He knew that trying to figure how to return home was important to her, no matter how much it pained him to think of her leaving.

With a promise to come back as soon as she could, Rhia had left.

Barnes had been quick to dive right into cleaning the guns to keep himself occupied, breaking down the Longbow DMR as his first choice. But in the midst of running a bore brush down the barrel, the artificial intelligence designed by Tony Stark had spoken through one of the wall-mounted speakers.

The archer, the Avenger called Hawkeye, wanted to come in and speak with him.

He honestly considered denying the other man permission to enter, but realized that he had no true control over the situation. There was only the illusion of authority. And so, Barnes had said yes and prepared himself as best he could for whatever sort of interrogation was soon to come.

And yet, the sandy-haired man claimed to only be checking in on him. Seeing how he was doing. The metal-armed assassin didn’t believe it for a second, but he’d played along within reason. But when Clint Barton had been asked what he wanted to be called a fragment of the barricade he’d constructed around his emotions had fractured. Had broken just the slightest bit.

No one else but Rhiannon had given him such courtesy.

Barnes had unintentionally let a few things slip to the other man. Things that he hadn’t yet shared with anyone else. Not even Rhiannon. She didn’t know who Bucky Barnes was except for what the internet said and what he had chosen to share with her during his more talkative moments. That was, of course, when he’d been able to remember those bits and pieces of his former life with any amount of clarity.

But that was one of the things that he loved about her. There weren’t any expectations. He was free to be who he currently was and not have to conform to an identity that he felt horribly disconnected from.

Now the two men sat in silence and were content to clean the array of firearms without the need for conversation. However, that didn’t mean that Barnes thought that Barton was done talking with him. Clearly there was a greater purpose to this visit, beyond the supposed friendly neighbor visit.

Ultimately, it was the former-HYDRA assassin who chose to break the silence first. He had finished cleaning the designated marksman rifle and had moved on to disassembling a M1A3 Hemlok BF-R, but there was actually a question that he had been burning to ask.

Only for curiosity’s sake and nothing more, of course.

It wasn’t actually any of his business, just… He wanted to know.

“So,” he began slowly. “Where’s Steve? I haven’t seen him since the day before yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah… Rogers had to head back down to the city for a few days and Wilson volunteered to go with him,” the archer explained. “Got called in to attend an in-person conference with some representatives from NATO and the World Security Council. They probably wanted an update on our hunt for HYDRA.”

Panic and irrational fear flooded his system. While his logical brain knew well enough that Steve would never do anything to endanger him, the visceral instincts born from being on the run for months had him ready to leap up and flee at the slightest hint of danger.

“No, no, no! Don’t worry,” the slimmer man was quick to try and say soothingly. “You and Lastimosa aren’t going to be mentioned at all and any evidence that you were present at the Belasica Facility has long since been erased by Stark.”

It was a small comfort and did little to reduce the sudden influx of adrenaline in his blood that had him ready to run and fight for his survival. But, after a few minutes of controlled breathing, Barnes managed to calm himself down to a more reasonable level of alertness. Didn’t stop him from giving the sandy-haired archer a death glare for riling him up so unnecessarily.

Barton squirmed under his gaze, bringing a hand up to run through his hair like a nervous tic. “Yeah, so that’s where Steve’s gone. Should be back soon. Though, the forecast is looking a bit dodgy these next few days – possible early winter storms heading our way – so they might get stuck in the city for longer.”

The answer was satisfactory and Barnes turned back to work on the Hemlok, and yet…

In all honestly, the metal-armed assassin was rather torn between the relief gained by knowing where Steve was and oddly saddened that he wasn’t close at hand should he be needed.

You know… Just in case.

While cleaning up inside the burst-fire rifle’s magwell, he couldn’t help but dwell lingeringly on all of his thoughts and feelings about the other prominent blond in his life. Barnes had remembered a great deal of his life pre-HYDRA. Though, he often still felt that there was still a great disconnection between his present and his past, but the edges had ever so slowly been blurring together.

Though, it often felt like he was watching a recording of someone else’s life, not his own.

He had long since remembered the first time he had met that scrappy and sickly boy on the playground near their elementary school. The tiny blond had been defending an even smaller girl against her bullies – or trying to at least – and had gotten all bloodied and bruised up for his troubles. Barnes had stepped in, hollering and flailing his fists about with all of the might his ten-year-old body could muster. But it had done the trick. The bullies had fled shortly thereafter and the girl had scurried off in tears, while the young brunet was left to deal with a hissing and spitting Steve Rogers.

He had been a bit like an angry, wet cat in that moment.

As proud, stubborn and hard-headed as Rogers had been – even then – he certainly had not appreciated getting his ass saved from a thorough beat-down by the trio of larger boys. Heedless as he was of the unhealthy reddish flush on his sunken cheeks, the slow drip of blood from the split in his lower lip and cut across the bridge of his nose or even the sickly wheeze coming from his heaving lungs.

_“I didn’t need your help, you jerk!”_

_“Sure ya didn’t, little punk.”_

Somehow in the aftermath the two boys – different as night and day – became the best of friends. They did everything together. They’d met each other’s families. Barnes had remembered when he’d met Steve’s mother. Sarah Rogers had been an unfailingly kind and strong woman and in return the Barnes family had welcomed Steve into the fold without hesitation.

And yet, there came one day when they took a step beyond friendship and never looked back.

He’d been sixteen and was well into his phase of chasing skirts, as was rather expected of a boy his age. But Barnes had always been somewhat aware of the sour look that would appear on Steve’s face every time he’d started dating a new girl.

He’d mistaken it for jealousy, as Steve very rarely managed to convince a girl to go on a date with him. And while he hadn’t been entirely wrong, he’d still misunderstood most of the blond’s true motivations. But then one night out on the rickety fire escape of the Rogers’ apartment – while Steve’s mother had been working another late-night shift at the hospital – everything had finally come to a head.

Barnes had been waxing poetic about how he was fairly certain his current girlfriend was probably going let him kiss her on their next date. Steve had pulled the face, trying to hide it by tilting his head down and taking a slow drink of his soda. But Barnes decided that he’d had enough of Steve’s jealousy and the brown-haired teenager had stupidly opened his mouth and said the first thing that had come to mind.

_“What? You want me to kiss you instead?”_

The little blond had turned bright red in the fading light of the day – that pale Irish skin of his couldn’t hide a blush for shit – choking on his drink and having to thump his chest and gasp for breath. But Steve hadn’t argued, hadn’t protested his words one bit, and it was like a light-bulb went off in Barnes’ head.

An honest, though far from innocent, curiosity took over from there.

Steve had just managed to regain his breath when Barnes had reached out. Gently snagging his friend’s chin and jaw with the tips of his fingers, turned his head to the side and leaned in to kiss him.

It had been an odd sensation, at first.

His lips on Stevie’s.

The simple act of kissing another man.

It was considered a sin. It was wrong and immoral. An act against the Will of God.

But then his friend had suddenly responded so passionately and everything had snapped into place. Everything had been perfect for those few handful of minutes. They’d just kept kissing and kissing – without regard for whoever might’ve been watching or looking out their windows – until they’d had to stop when Steve’s lungs just couldn’t keep up any longer.

Those first few months into the beginning of their secret relationship had been difficult and almost uncomfortable at times. They’d never told their parents, fearing what might happen. Dreading that they would be separated and forbidden from seeing each other ever again. For years, they kept it hidden. And even when Steve’s mother had gotten sick with tuberculosis and passed away, they’d kept it secret.

And then he’d been drafted.

And then he’d been captured and experimented on by Zola.

And then he’d fallen off the train in the Austrian Alps.

And then he had become the Winter Soldier.

The Fist of HYDRA.

Their weapon to mold the world to their whims.

And now, James Barnes was most certainly not worthy of being with Steve Rogers.

Not worthy of his friendship and most certainly not worthy of his love, no matter how much he craved it at times. To just crawl into the big blond’s lap and cry for all that he’d lost. To weep for all of the horrible things that had been done to him against his will. To scream about all of the things that he’d done and regretted. All the blood on his hands. That inky blackness that now permanently stained his very soul.

It was why he sometimes clung to Rhia with such desperate fervency. She was his only comfort, because he couldn’t bring himself to seek out Steve. He didn’t deserve it.

Not that the blonde woman was in any way a lesser option than Steve. She wasn’t a replacement or a secondary choice, but with her there wasn’t as much soul-crushing guilt when she offered him solace. When she spoke to him so soothingly; convincing him that he was worth more. That his suffering was over, his pain was in the past and he was free to begin again. She so honestly and generously shared with him her own pains, letting him know that he was not alone in his struggles.

She had been a godsend.

The clearing of a throat brought the dark-haired man out of his soul-searching recollections and he looked up to see Barton staring at him with some degree of concern.

“You alright, man?” the archer asked. “You zoned out there for a minute.”

“No… Yeah,” Barnes said as he shook his head and tried to get his mind back on track after his roller-coaster of introspection. “Just… thinking… about things. Memories ‘n stuff. It happens.”

“I get it. I – uh – get those kinds of moments too,” Clint said understandingly with a nod of his head. “So, pretty sure you’ve probably heard about what went down in 2012, right? The aliens in New York?”

Barnes nodded his head. He’d been on ice in 2012, but since gaining his freedom he’d been doing his best to catch up on major historical events that he’d missed out on. The alien invasion in Manhattan had been amongst those he’d read about and seen a handful of shaky cell phone videos from. Though, after witnessing some blurred footage of Steve fighting against the Chitauri, the dark-haired man had stopped watching and only accessed the written word.

For the sake of his mental stability.

“The aliens were under the control of a guy named Loki,” the other man continued. “He was Thor’s little brother, actually. And he had this scepter that could shoot out these energy blasts, but that wasn’t all that it could do.” The archer took a heavy breath in and then let it out in a gusty exhale. “If he touched someone with the tip of that staff, he could make them do whatever he wanted. They would follow his orders without an ounce of hesitation. Be made a prisoner in their own body, helplessly watching along as they committed all sorts of awful things.”

The former assassin was starting to connect the dots. His certainty only furthered by the oh so familiar haunted expression on Barton’s face.

Things in common, indeed.

“He got you, didn’t he?” Barnes asked.

“Yes,” the archer admitted, looking distraught by the memories as they resurged. “He got me right after he arrived on Earth and there wasn’t a thing that I could do stop him. And then I was helping him. He owned me. On his orders I killed dozens of innocent people; S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and civilians alike. Led an assault on the Helicarrier and tried to actively kill one of my best friends. Only managed to snap out of it when Natasha whacked my head against a steel bar and gave me a concussion.”

Barton looked up from his knees, where his gaze had been affixed during the telling of his story, and met Barnes’ own eyes. It was like looking into a mirror. The sandy-haired man understood his pain in a way no one else he knew could.

“So, yeah… I know a bit about how you probably feel right about now,” Clint continued. “Having done so many bad things while under someone else’s control and being unable to do a thing to make it stop. Having to deal with the consequences of what you’ve done when you somehow come out on the other side of it all.”

“How did you deal with it?” the brunet asked, honestly curious.

“Therapy,” Clint answered. “And talking about it with the people I trust and love. By no means have I healed completely from the ordeal, but I’ve come to terms with it. I still feel guilty. Still have nightmares about it. But in the past two years its easier to separate myself from those acts.”

It was an unsurprising answer, but that level of healing seemed so far in the future for Barnes. So far as to feel unreachable. An impossibility. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to truly separate himself from all of the assassinations and unspeakable acts of brutal violence that the Winter Soldier had been ordered to commit. Not when it was all too easy to see himself and the Soldier as one in the same.

Two halves of a whole; born from blood, metal and pain.

Monsters.

“I…” he began, but the archer spoke up once again.

“All I’m saying is that if you ever want someone to talk to about what you’ve been through – someone who understands – I’m here if you need me. No judgement and all strictly confidential. You and me.”

It was an unexpected offer, but Barnes was grateful nonetheless, despite not feeling ready to talk about any of his innumerable problems with a stranger. But maybe… Maybe one day he’d take Barton up on it.

The brown-haired man opened his mouth to reply, but a disturbance from beyond the door caught his attention. He turned, watching as the door swung open and Rhiannon staggered into the room. She was carrying a bag of groceries or possibly take-out food over one of her arms, which was most likely what they would be eating for lunch.

“Ugh!” she groaned out loud as she closed the door behind her and ran her fingers through her thick mane of hair, which she had left loose and mostly untamed on this occasion in expectation of their day of relaxation. “Higher sciences make my brain hurt. Once Stark and Banner got going it was all I could just to keep pace with their high speed rambling over their possible theories and hypotheses,” she complained, entirely unaware of the second man in the room until she happened to turn her head and caught sight of the archer. “Oh… Uh… Hello, Clint. What’re you doing here?”

“Just stopped by to have a chat with you guys. Checking in on how you guys are settling in,” Barton said – a half-truth – as he rose from the chair and began to head back towards the door. “But if lunch is here then I better hurry back to the kitchen before Romanoff beats me to the good stuff.”

“Okay. Yeah… It just got delivered,” she said, stepping away from the door to allow the archer to exit.

“Thanks. Gotta go. You guys have a good rest of your day! Have fun cleaning guns!”

And then he was gone and the door shut with a muted click of the latch bolt sliding into place.

Rhia stared in confusion at the closed door for a moment, before her head swiveled in his direction, where he still sat cross-legged in his pajamas amongst the aforementioned disassembled guns.

“So, what really happened?” she asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion and looking him over for any signs of physical harm or emotional distress. “Because I don’t believe what Barton said for a second.”

“Nah, doll,” Barnes said soothingly, feeling uncharacteristically calm and almost happy in that moment, despite the emotional turmoil he had been put through. The archer’s offer of support and conversation had been… enlightening. But he was also just pleased that Rhia was back. He could even feel the faintest hints of a smile on his face. The slightest twitching at the corners of his lips that still felt a bit unnatural. “Just talked about some stuff we had in common. Nothing bad, I promise.”

She looked far from convinced, but seemed unwilling to push when he claimed that it wasn’t serious.

“If you say so,” she said, making her way towards the kitchen. “You hungry?”

He raised a brow at the question, standing to following after her, reaching for the bag as she moved it away playfully. She shook her head in wry exasperation as he continued to try – in exaggerated slow motion – to steal the bag of food from her hands.

“Right. Silly me,” she said, dodging his attempts with equal slowness as a broad, ivory grin spread its way across her beautiful face. “Why would I even ask? You’re always hungry. A fuckin’ bottomless pit that food just vanishes into 24/7. It was a miracle I could keep you fed on my meager salary, Barnes.”

He scoffed, but admitted internally that it was nice to see her like this.

Actually happy. Not worried or sad or frustrated as she often was when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He just liked seeing her truly smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early weekend treat for you all, because I've got a hot date with some Titanfall 2 multiplayer tonight and I didn't want to spend several hours just sitting on this. Nonetheless, I hope you all enjoyed this Bucky-centric chapter. At times it went way off course from the outline I wrote out beforehand, but I think the self-reflection suited the mood of the chapter and it was good to get a more in-depth glimpse into Bucky's head.
> 
> But, hey, bonus points for the person who can find Buck's Freudian slip.


	14. Chapter 14

**1322 HOURS | NOVEMBER 21, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

The Raven-class heavy dropship, lightly dusted with a fine layer of snow that had been slowly falling since the early hours of the morning, was alive with the sound of very loud and fast-paced music.

_Lock on, engage the target_

_With the damage core on, I will not be stoppin'_

_Better get comfy in your cockpit_

_Cause if you come close, then I'll knock you off it_

_Stomp you into the rock that I'm walking on_

_Top it off with a couple quad rocket shots_

Within the behemoth craft, Rhiannon Lastimosa had herself bundled up in a motley mash-up of her Pilot gear and layers of civilian clothing to keep herself warm. The late autumn transitioning into early winter weather of New York state was proving a challenge to get used to for the blonde woman, who was much more familiar and preferential towards warmer climates.

Harmony had never gotten this cold. Greece had never even gotten this cold. And even the enormous ships that she and her Titan had been carted around the Frontier in were kept at a fair temperature.

Titans tended to get locked up at the joints if the temperatures dropped below a certain margin; their hydraulic fluids could start crystallizing and that was a bitch and half to try and thaw out. They weren’t quite at that level of risk yet, but Rhia was running checks and maintenance on RA-5172 anyways with the infamous winter season just around the corner.

That and she had needed to gain a bit of distance from Barnes.

Not that anything was wrong, per say, but… she needed a bit of Rhiannon-Time.

The soothing lull and natural feel of yesterday’s day of relaxation had made it apparent that she was getting far too comfortable on this planet. She refused to add any more additional pain to her eventual departure, which was already going to be a monumentally heartbreaking experience. So, she went to Rome and decided to bury herself elbow-deep in Titan parts for several hours.

All the while singing along to her playlist, as was her habit when working on Titans, within the safe confines of her helmet – where no one could hear her – as she got down to business. It was no different than those who sang in the car or while they showered. And while she wouldn’t claim to have a particularly good singing voice, she wasn’t entirely tone-deaf either.

_Fight, late into the night_

_Jumping as the Titan’s fall_

_We climb aboard and then we_

_Settle the scores until we_

_Kill all the enemies_

_Evacuate_

Together the two of them had already run through all of RA-5172’s internal systems. Checking through the lines of coding that allowed her Vanguard to utilize multiple weapon loadouts seamlessly. That and the special abilities whose origins traced back to various other models of non-Militia Titans. The famed Multi-Core System developed by the Frontier’s brightest minds. Dense packets of stolen coding from those newer variants made by Hammond Robotics and Vinson Dynamics that had been meshed into the Vanguard’s system to make it as adaptive and versatile as it could be on the battlefield.

More than capable of handling any threat that might come their way.

As luck would have it, Rome’s internals had come back clean as a whistle and fully functional – from his bodyshield generators to his electric smoke dispensers and even the Vortex Shield projectors on both of his enormous hands.

However, his external surfaces were another matter entirely.

Rhia, due in large part to a shortage of free time and the proper opportunity, had yet to fix most of the cosmetic damage that their brawl with the Tatzelwurm had caused. All of the dents, gouges and scratches made in Rome’s armor plating by a combination of the monster’s paws, claws, fangs and tail. But most of it would just be a matter of welding the tears and buffing out the dents. Perhaps she might even be able to get her hands on some suitable paint in the right colors to fix up the Titan’s paint job?

She and Rome were equally fastidious about maintaining his expansive collection of decals. Where she had earned her medals and ribbons in combat, her Titan’s decals served the same purpose. A sense of his own accomplishments that he could wear proudly as an acknowledgement of his service.

_I'm stuck, backed up_

_Got my railgun charged, time to fuck shit up_

_Stripped down, lightweight and made to move_

_With my dash core ready, better blink fast dude_

_That's rude, not the right thing to do_

_I'm a Titan blessed with a musical groove_

After acquiring those tools and a few reels of thick alloyed wire she would need to repair the damages, Rhiannon began to clamber all over RA-5172 with practiced ease. Her Titan was currently in a low-power state to conserve the energy draw from his batteries and main reactor. At max conserve the energy supply could foreseeably last them for upwards of thirty or more years, but the intensity of combat situations put a great deal of strain on a Titan and was the primary reason that the batteries needed to be swapped out at all.

The dropship, fortunately for them, came equipped with a storage rack of replacement batteries. But even the twelve spares would only last for so long if they found themselves in more fights.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

_High, eject into the skies_

_Watching as the Titan’s fall_

_Escaping self-destruction_

_We cloak then run and jump and_

_Ignite the enemies_

_Evacuate_

With the music playing loudly and Rhiannon singing, she began to bring together the two edges of the lowest tear in Rome’s left leg plating, which was well over thirty centimeters long as well as jagged and twisted at the torn edges. It would take some time to bring the uneven butt joint together and seal the gap with the melted metal of the wire, but it was mindless – and enjoyable – work for her.

Though, she wouldn’t have turned down the help of a couple MRVNs to expedite the process.

But she would make do on her own.

_Heads up, better hit the floor_

_When the Titans drop, it's time for war_

_Wanna brawl, motherfucker? Then bring it on_

_My guns are big and my team is strong_

_Wreckin' mechs is what we love_

_Fall high from the sky, death from above_

Forty-five minutes later the first tear had been successfully sealed and just needed to cool and set before she could grind out the bump of the weld and contour the sheet back into its correct shape. Rhiannon then continued, climbing higher, towards the next wound on her Titan’s mechanical body; heedless of the welding sparks splashing harmlessly off the fabric of her jumpsuit, the gloves on her hands and the surface of her helmet.

After a total of three welds had been made, just over two and a half hours since she had begun the process, several lines of text suddenly appeared on the side of her HUD and caught her attention.

**RECEIVING ENCRYPTED MESSAGE FROM RA-5172:**

**ATTENTION – AGENT ROMANOFF IS APPROACHING THE DROPSHIP.**

The music cut off abruptly at her command, while she simultaneously powered down the welder and turned to greet her unexpected guest. The shorter red-haired woman, bundled up against the weather just as Lastimosa was, had just stepped into the dropship with her usual confident stride looking around the interior before focusing her green-eyed gaze onto the taller blonde.

“Hello, Natasha,” Rhia said, leaping down from her current perch aboard Rome and reaching upwards to remove her helmet with her free hand. “To what do I owe the visit?” She snorted under her breath as a possible – and mostly likely accurate – reason came to mind. “Is it my turn for the friendly check-in talk that Clint pulled with Barnes yesterday?”

“And if I said that it was?” the spy asked, her attractive face kept carefully blank so Rhia couldn’t guess what she might’ve been thinking or feeling right at that moment.

“I’d tell you that it’s not necessary,” Rhia replied, feeling the need to behave defensively around the other woman. Being under the Avengers’ scrutiny had been enough for her. She was toeing the border for the maximum amount of suspicion she was able to tolerate without lashing back. She did not need the beautiful super-spy trying to subtly plumb her for all of her secrets on top of that. Rhiannon had shared with them what she was comfortable with in the data she’d sent them through RA-5172. And that was that. Period. End of story. “I’m perfectly fine and I’m not planning on causing any trouble. I’m just going to figure out how the get home and then I’ll be out of your hair. Like I was never even here.”

“That’s only if Stark and Banner can figure out how that device of yours works,” Romanoff said bluntly, capitalizing almost immediately on one of Rhia’s greatest fears. “For all you know you might be stuck here... Permanently. What will you do then?”

Rhiannon stayed silent, trying to think of a suitable answer and realizing all too quickly that she didn’t have one. It was just a yawning pit of fear and worry and the waiting void of inescapable depression that she didn’t – That she couldn’t even dare to think about in even the slightest amount or risk provoking.

But the thought of never being able to return to the Frontier…

To never see BT or Jack ever again…

To never talk to Commander Briggs or Bish or that drunken asshole Barker.

Never tell stories about the good ole days with Roy and Hack; all that remained of her old fireteam.

To never kick ass alongside Gates and Bear… Or even those two idiots, Davis and Droz.

It was terrifying.

“You know, if that does happen,” Natasha continued, unintentionally saving Rhiannon from her tailspin into more and more negative thoughts. While the spy’s tone of voice had become slightly softer, her facial expression had yet to waver from its perpetual mask of calm and confidence. “Not that I’m saying it will… But I’m fairly certain that Rogers would offer you – and your Titan – a place on the team, if you wanted it. You could become an Avenger.”

“Why?” Rhia asked, astounded that Romanoff would make such a claim. “Why would he do that?”

They didn’t know her and they certainly didn’t trust her.

So why in the Hell would…

“Because between your augmentations, fighting style and years of combat experience, you’re just as skilled and lethal as we are and the Avengers can always use more competent fighters on our side. Your Titan doesn’t really need any sort of explanation and I’d imagine you come as a package deal,” Natasha explained bluntly. “But you also don’t have any sort of legal documentation. And unlike Thor, you can’t pull extraterrestrial diplomatic immunity. So, being connected with us would keep you safe from those who would try to take you and use you for their own purposes. Stark could probably pull some strings to get you some legal ID if you asked him to. But mostly… Steve would be doing it for Barnes.”

Rhiannon narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean?”

“You’re far from stupid, Lastimosa,” Natasha said accusingly. “You know as well as I do that Cap is head over heels for Barnes and that’s not likely to change anytime soon.”

The blonde bit at her lower lip as her brows furrowed and she thought about what the red-head had just said. And then she began to comprehend the true message that the other woman was trying to convey.

“Rogers would ask me to stay with the Avengers to make him happy,” Rhiannon said slowly, coming to the realization and Romanoff nodded her head in agreement.

“Exactly. In fact, even if the geniuses manage to figure out your alien technology, Steve might still ask you to consider staying,” Romanoff continued with a sad sort of frown. “Because when you leave it’s going to hurt Barnes. A lot. He’s very attached to you. Emotionally, mentally and probably physically as well. When you leave it’s going to tear that freshly healed chunk of him right back out again.”

“You think I don’t know that!” Rhia shouted as she became irrationally enraged. “I don’t want to hurt him, but I’ve got to go home. I’ve got family there… Friends. And responsibilities! I swore oaths to the Militia. A vow to save my people from the tyranny of the IMC at any cost!”

There was a sudden hiss of hydraulics and the drone of Rome’s reactor powering up, before Rhiannon found herself wrapped securely in a four-fingered metal hand. Her Titan’s grasp was firm – steadying, both physically and emotionally – but irrevocably gentle in his own lumbering way.

“Pilot Lastimosa, you are in distress,” the Vanguard announced as she turned to look into his glowing blue eye – that vibrantly blue source of light. The lens focused in on her exposed face before shifting and swiveling it it’s housing to narrow in on the red-headed super-spy turned superhero almost accusingly. “Are you in need of assistance?”

Oh, what would she do without her Titan?

“No, Rome. I’m fine,” she said soothingly, reaching up and lay her hand against his chassis. “Things just got a bit… heated. Unintentionally, I’m sure. But thank you for your concern, sweetness.”

He mulled over her words silently for a few moments and Rhiannon could imagine that his processes and sensors were running double-time to assess the truth of the matter for himself.

“Protocol Three,” he rumbled, a reminder that he would do whatever was necessary to keep her safe. “But very well, Rhia. I will return to low power.” His eye swiveled back towards Romanoff, narrowing once more as if in a glare. “Agent Romanoff,” he greeted, almost threateningly, before he returned to his idle position – withdrawing his hand from around her body – and the light of his eye dimmed.

There was a minute of heavy silence after RA-5172’s unexpected interruption.

“I apologize,” Natasha said, seeming to have mustered the will to speak first. “I honestly didn’t mean to make you mad. I just thought that you needed to hear the truth of it from someone… Just in case you hadn’t already realized it on your own.”

“I have,” Rhiannon admitted, now more saddened than actually angry. “And it brings me no joy to do it. But I’ve got to go back, regardless of my own feelings or anyone else’s.”

The red-head’s brows furrowed in thought. “So, you’ve actually got feelings for Barnes too?”

“Of course, I do,” the blonde barked, finding it hard to believe that the spy didn’t already know. “Do you think I would have agreed to half of this shit if it wasn’t for his benefit as well? I’ve spent nearly three months piecing that man back together from the disaster I rescued back on that pier in Greece. If you think that I haven’t gotten just as attached to him as he has to me...” She paused to take in more air before finishing her emotional tirade. “I care about him far more than I should – far more than I have felt for anyone in a long time… But he will have Steve once I’m gone and I have to content myself with that knowledge.”

The red-head’s control over her expressions broke momentarily and Rhiannon saw a hint of honest sympathy on her lovely face, before it was whisked away and replaced with a mild look of curiosity. It seemed as though the shorter woman was willing to leave the conversation at that and Rhiannon was grateful for the change of subject.

This sort of thing was exactly what she had come out here to avoid thinking about.

The spy’s green eyes flickered over to focus on RA-5172.

“So, what is Protocol Three?” she asked and Rhiannon wondered what the spy was after now. But an explanation of Titan protocols wasn’t a particularly vital piece of information. In fact, back home is was basically common knowledge.

“In order to place restraints on what Titans are capable of – as advanced and intelligent as they are as fully functional AIs – there are protocols that every Titan has at the core of their coding,” Rhia said. “Protocol One: Link to Pilot. Protocol Two: Uphold the Mission. And Protocol Three: Protect the Pilot. They’re like rules that the Titans are compelled to follow so that they don’t get out of our control.”

“So, when your Titan said Protocol Three just now…”

“He was telling me that if you presented yourself as an active threat to my safety, he would kill you.”

The blonde saw the spy’s eyes widened in shock and perhaps even a brief glimpse of actual fear, before she schooled her features into something more akin to a mild expression of surprise.

“Wow. That’s… dramatic and a bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“Titans take the Protocols very seriously. And Rome – as protective as he is – tends to overreact when he thinks I’m in any sort of danger. He’s gone off more than once when I’ve gotten emotional about things. He doesn’t quite understand human emotion, despite being linked to me for nearly four years.”

“Would you have let…” Romanoff said, trailing off to lightly tap a gloved fist into the palm of her hand.

“No! Jeez! God, no!” Rhiannon protested vehemently. “You might’ve pissed me off a bit, but that’s no reason to let my Titan go around pancaking people.” God, this talk needed to lighten up. It had gotten way too dark all of a sudden. “Anyways, if I wanted to take you down, Romanoff, I’d do it myself,” she said, forcing her tone to be light with just an undertone of a playful challenge.

The spy seemed to get the gist of her message.

“Do you think you could?” the red-head asked in an answer to her friendly provocation. There was a small – but smug – sort of grin curling her lips and the shorter woman was quick to shift her stance to have a hip cocked out sassily. “I’ve brought Rogers down on more than one occasion, so I’m more than capable of taking down a super-soldier.”

“What does that matter? I’ve beaten Barnes,” Rhia announced with not an insignificant amount of pride. The brown-haired man was a fierce combatant and she was always pushed to her limits to match him strike for strike. “We did a bit of sparring before we attacked that HYDRA Base in the mountains. Getting used to each other’s fighting styles and all that.”

“Mmm,” Natasha hummed in thought. “Maybe we ought to spar someday soon?”

“We should,” Rhiannon agreed. She was more than glad for the offer, regardless of her currently undecided feelings in regards to the super-spy. It was an indisputable fact that the Black Widow was a top-tier hand-to-hand combatant. “Yeah… That’d be real nice. Thanks.”

“No problem,” Romanoff said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “And I am sorry about before. Didn’t mean to make you mad or anything. Just wanted to lay out the reality of the situation. It’s all messy and confusing and I just wanted to make sure that you fully understood that.”

“I know.”

“So… Are we good? No hard feelings, right?” Natasha asked and while Rhiannon was still a bit ticked about the shorter woman pushing her buttons, she couldn’t fault Romanoff for her efforts in laying out the truth. No matter how painful that truth might’ve been.

“We’re good,” Rhia assured, now focusing on how to go about politely shooing her guest out of the ship so she could get back to welding her Titan back together, listening to her music and not thinking.

It would be a good opportunity to calm herself back down and reestablish her equilibrium.

Romanoff, however, seemed to also understand that the conversation was winding down to an end, and made her goodbyes. But, of course, not before repeating her suggestion that the two women face off in the ring for a bit of competitive fighting fun. And then she was gone, vanishing back out into the snow and heading back towards the Compound’s main building at a brisk walking pace to get out of the cold and the weather.

Rhiannon watched her go and continued to stare off into the wintry wonderland beyond the cargo bay doors before shaking her head clear and opting to just put it all behind her. With her helmet back on her head and her music back to booming out of the dropship’s internal speakers, the blonde woman turned to clamber back onto her Titan with the welder in hand.

_Mankind aligned with giants_

_Goliath and David made an alliance_

_I've tried to find the kind of pilot_

_That I can bind with, fight and die with_

* * *

While the Pilot was doing her level best to immerse herself entirely into her project, Natasha Romanoff had just begun to divest herself of her coat, hat and gloves as she made her way towards her own room. As she did so, her long-time partner and closest friend, Clint Barton, came waltzing around a corner with an expectant look on his face. The sandy-haired man spun on his heels to walk alongside her.

“So, how did it go?” he asked curiously. In exchange for the previous day’s events, the archer had foisted the responsibility of talking to the Titan Pilot onto Romanoff’s shoulders.

It had only been fair and she had actually been planning on doing it anyways.

The red-haired woman began to search for the proper words to describe her most recent interaction with Captain Rhiannon Lastimosa. It hadn’t been bad, exactly. But it had certainly gotten way more tense than Natasha had thought it would. Then again, she had been pushing at the blonde woman’s buttons quite a bit more than she had initially planned to.

But she’d ultimately done it all for Steve’s sake.

He was her friend, one of the few she could truly count on, and that made the future of James Barnes one of her priorities. Because Rogers was still so obviously in love with the man who had been turned into the Winter Soldier and in her heart-of-hearts the ex-international super-spy wanted to see Steve happy. By extension, that meant that Natasha needed to know where Lastimosa’s loyalties truly lay before the woman ended up causing irreparable damage. But the woman – as irate as she had become from the red-head’s indelicate prodding – had managed to prove herself and was well on her way to earning Natasha’s respect.

“Well… I think your chat with Barnes went better than mine did with Lastimosa,” she said, refusing to allow herself to once again feel that split second of fear she had felt when the Titan had come to life and threatened her life. It had brought her back to her first true encounter with the Hulk in Harlem – how close she had come to death that day – and then once again darting through the claustrophobic bowels of the Helicarrier back in 2012. That moment of sheer panic she had experienced upon realizing that she was up against an opponent that she could not defeat.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I told her the truth,” Natasha said as the pair entered her appointed living space. “About what might happen when she leaves… And what could possibly end up happening if she ends up stuck here.”

“And how’d she take it?”

“She understands about Barnes, at least. The damage she’s likely to do to the man when she goes back. But she’s so hooked on wanting to return home that she’s completely unwilling to think of alternatives. Honestly, I’m actually really worried about what’ll happen if Tony and Bruce can’t figure out how that alien device of hers works. Not being able to return to where she came from… It might just break her. And who knows what that might end up doing to Barnes.”

“Surely Lastimosa’s not that emotionally fragile?” the archer asked skeptically even as Natasha turned to face her friend, her face far from the calm mask she had given to the blonde woman. Around Clint she was comfortable enough to express her true thoughts and feelings. And so, her lips were pulled into a deep frown, with a scrunch to her nose and a deep furrow forming between her manicured eyebrows.

“Think about it, Clint. Imagine being separated from everyone and everything you’ve ever known and loved,” she suggested. “How emotionally compromised would you be after realizing that you suddenly have absolutely nothing? Personally, I think the only thing that is keeping her together is her Titan, her bond with Barnes and the tenuous hope that she can actually go home.”

The sandy-haired man fell silent and had an expression of thoughtfulness on his face and Natasha was able to take a good guess about what he was thinking about. The full realization about the harsh reality of Lastimosa’s current state of mind, her unfortunate circumstances and everything that could possibly go wrong.

“Poor woman…” Clint murmured as the two settled themselves down onto the couch and one of the chairs in the apartment’s living room.

“Yeah,” Romanoff said in agreement as she reclined back into the cushions of the couch. “As much as I know it isn’t going to be possible, I really wish there was a happy medium for all of this.”

“Hmph,” Barton snorted. “And what would that look like?”

“I dunno,” the woman mumbled, suddenly feeling rather tired all of a sudden and so she chose to slump over onto her side and rest her head on one of the decorative, but very plush, throw pillows. “Maybe all three of them – Rogers, Barnes and Lastimosa – fall in love with each other and live happily ever after?”

She got nothing but silence from Clint, who was sitting just out of her field of view. She turned her head to look over at him and saw a particularly thoughtful expression on his face and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“What’s the look for?” she asked; curious, but wary, of what that glint in his eye could possibly mean.

“You really think those three could make a polyamorous relationship work?” he asked after several more tense moments of thoughtful quiet. “All the evidence points to Rogers being bisexual. I mean he definitely had a thing for former-Director Carter, right? And Barnes was in a relationship with Cap in the past… For who knows how many years. Though, now he’s latched onto Lastimosa like a barnacle.” He paused for a breath and Romanoff couldn’t help but listen to his ramblings. It was like a car crash. She just couldn’t look away. “Really the only disconnect here is making a connection between Lastimosa and Steve. She’s had a girlfriend – that Himura chick from the mission log – but I don’t know if she’s into men…”

“You’re crazy, Barton,” Natasha barked, though her voice was slightly muffled by the pillow. “But I can tell you that Lastimosa is into Barnes, at least. Admitted it right to my face that she cares about him.”

“So…” he said, drawing out the word as he waited for her to respond.

“So what?”

“Should we try our hand at a little bit of matchmaking, you think? Maybe your happy medium can be achieved with a little external effort on our parts?”

The red-haired international spy pursed her lips, nuzzling her face into the comforting softness of the pillow, but began to actually give the idea some thought.

It had merit, she supposed.

And love conquers all…

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, everyone! Or whatever day it is that you're actually reading this on... And I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Some more Titanfall lore-ish information. A little bit of looking into where Rhiannon's head is at. Teetering on the edge of not-very-good, actually, but she's trying her best to stay strong. And then a little bit of Natasha's POV to finish the chapter off with a bit of wishful foreshadowing with Clint of the happy things to come, yeah? Maybe? Possibly? Could be... I don't know. You'll just have to stick around and find out.
> 
> Side Note: Song Lyrics are NOT MINE! The first five sections of lyrics belong to the TITANFALL RAP by JT Music, THK and Borderline Disaster - "When Titans Fall" and the sixth segment of lyrics belongs to the TITANFALL 2 RAP by JT Music feat. Teamheadkick - "Aligned with Giants". Giving full credit to those who deserve it. Especially because they made some damn good Titanfall fan songs. If you're curious, and want to get the gist of how Rhiannon is singing these, definitely look them up on YouTube and give them a listen.


	15. Chapter 15

**0924 HOURS | NOVEMBER 23, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

One thousand and seventy-two consecutive days.

A total of four years and twelve days.

That was how long Romeo-Alpha-Five-One-Seven-Two had been linked with his Pilot.

It had been what the humans would have called his birthday, though his programming had been active and learning for nearly a month beforehand. But it was on that particular day – November 11th of 2614 – that his data core was to be installed into one of the six prototype Vanguard-class Titan chassis that had been built. The top Pilots of the Special Recon Squadron – the best of the best – had been singled out to link with the very first Militia-designed model of Titan. And it had been Rhia had chosen his core from the line-up and they had been partners ever since.

Though, RA-5172 would admit that he was currently inhabiting his third body.

However, his core had never sustained any amount of damage.

The Vanguard Project had begun long before even the Battle of Demeter, but the Militia had never been able to funnel to appropriate levels of funding for it to really take off. Certainly not with the IMC coming after them time and time again with undying persistence. And then the fueling station on Demeter had been destroyed; blown to smithereens at the hands of James MacAllan. Vice Admiral Marcus Graves had defected to their cause and a sizable chunk of the remaining IMC fleet had splintered off under the firm command of Spyglass, an IMC tactical artificial intelligence gone rogue.

But two years after Demeter, the prototypical Vanguards were prepared for testing and things had only taken off from there. Though, the Vanguard-class was still an uncommon model amongst the Militia – with non-SRS pilots having to utilize other models – there were still over a hundred active units. Though, shortly before their departure, there had been rumors that Vinson Dynamics had managed to recover the charred husks of a pair of Vanguards from the surface of Typhon and were in the process of attempting to reverse engineering the design.

What had recently taken up the majority of RA-5172’s processing power was his continued endeavor to logically rationalize the events of the past several months. The mere fact that he and his Pilot had been on this planet for almost a year had the Titan almost feeling irritated and disappointed in himself. Surely an artificial intelligence of his caliber should have been able to figure out how to return to their original reality. But that was not the case, Rhiannon had been forced to reach out to others for aid because of his ineptitude.

He could calculate the trajectories for missiles on an intercept course with a rapidly moving target in a fraction of a second. He could run hundreds of tactical simulations to pursue the option that would be mostly likely to result in victory with minimal damages accrued. He could catch dozens of munitions with a well-timed Vortex Shield and fling it all back with unerring accuracy at his enemies.

And yet, in spite of his incredible acumen, RA-5172 had still failed his Pilot.

It was not a favorable experience and most certainly not one that the Titan was in any hurry to repeat. To that end the Vanguard-class was directing the majority of his efforts towards providing Mister Stark and Doctor Banner with any and all information he could to further their studies. He had given them all of the sensor readings he had taken of the mysterious alien artifact, which he believed to be of similar origins as the planet-destroying super-weapon and its power source from Typhon.

The energy signatures between the unknown artifact and the Ark were quite similar. Though, this small variant was almost wholly inert and only produced the faintest traces of radioactive emissions. Harmless to living beings, but apparently rather adept at ripping through the fabric of space and time without difficulty.

His Pilot had kept it in the containment unit, the very same that the ARES Division scientists had utilized, regardless. She had not wanted to take any chances.

And yet, her fears had been proven correctly.

They had suffered an almost instantaneous and violent reaction between the alien device and the jump drive of the prototypical Raven-class dropship. A reaction that had sent them six hundred and four years into the past and beyond the limits of their own reality. It was something akin to what happened during a Phase Dash – that shift between parallel dimensions – but they had no control over the artifact. It sent them wherever it wished to or it was purely random chance that had brought them here.

Shortly after their arrival, RA-5172 had attempted to interface with the device and had been rebuffed. There was no way to make contact with the internal systems of the alien sphere. The pale blue energy within was contained within a segmented shell of unnamed and undocumented metallic alloy, etched and detailed with undefined symbols and iconography. But for all of that immeasurable power it held within, the spherical artifact was no larger than twenty centimeters in diameter.

Barely even a third of the size that the Ark had been.

Now the goal was to attempt to study the energy readings of both the piece of alien technology and the dropship’s jump drive and find the resonant frequency at which the two would react to one another. It was only then could they begin to try and create a harness for the sphere to direct it where and when to go. It was far easier said than done and the two greatest minds on this Earth and two advanced artificial intelligences were doing their level best to find those solutions.

However, even while a fair-sized chunk of Ra-5172’s processes were devoted to the study of the device, there were several dozen others that were directed towards less than productive tasks.

One such task was compiling dossiers on those notable individuals that his Pilot interacted with on a daily basis. Ostensibly for the purposes of sharing in their mission report when they managed to return to their point of origin, but there was also a less rational fragment of his being that was more curious than anything about all of these new people. Them and the entirety of this new reality and all that it contained. The Titan already had a comprehensive list of similarities and differences in development.

Perhaps he would show it to Rhiannon one day soon and get her opinion on it?

But the dossiers…

The first of them belonged to James Buchanan Barnes and had been created as soon as his Pilot had rescued the man in the Port of Thessaloniki. At that point in time it had only been a skeletal document; filled with only the most basic of information that he had been able to collect from his talks with Rhia and the data that her Pilot’s helmet had been able to gather. A physical description with the inclusion of the man’s titanium alloy prosthetic, an unusual feature that merited its own sub-section of descriptors.

And then a week later, Rhia and the man she had rescued – known only at that time by the first name of James – had come to the dropship to remove the tracking device from his arm. RA-5172 had initiated a full scan and discovered the man’s true identity to be someone who had been thought dead since 1945. But Sergeant Barnes had been far from dead and had found himself being recovered from his presumed death by the villainous organization HYDRA and turned into the assassin known as the Winter Soldier.

The Vanguard had not been pleased to learn that his Pilot had spent a week in the company of such a questionable individual, but his opinions had long since been altered. The subject of brainwashing and mind control was a slippery slope to navigate, but Rhia had been convinced that the man had not acted of his own volition. He had been controlled and coerced by his jailers. Forced into the service of HYDRA under duress and motivated by torture. Reduced to nothing more than a body that obeyed orders without question.

Upon a review of his pre-death service record, RA-5172 was inclined to agree.

James Barnes had been what many would have called a good man.

It was for that reason that he followed along willingly as his Pilot offered to help the former Sergeant. While he might’ve thought that the launching of their attack against HYDRA was ill-advised, he was programmed to follow his Pilot’s orders…

And he admittedly had missed the sensation – the rush – of combat.

He was a Vanguard-class Titan.

He was a machine built for the sole purpose of war.

So, who was he if there was no war to fight?

But RA-5172 was no fool.

And while he may not understand most facets of the convoluted spectrum of human emotion, or possessing the ability to fully comprehend the significance of some social interactions, he could not deny the fact that his Pilot was becoming attached to James Barnes. It had been fairly inevitable, with Rhia taking up residence such a distance away with little to no socializing with other humans. And then along came the Sergeant – someone with nowhere else to go – and he had agreed to stay with his Pilot.

They talked and read books together. They watched television and movies. They cooked and ate most of their meals together. They sat and enjoyed each other’s company. They comforted each other after one or the other suffered from the lingering wounds of wartime and their traumatic past experiences. And the Titan, for all of his social and emotional ineptitude, could see the bond forming between the two. He appreciated his Pilot having someone there for her when he could not be. But he feared and worried – as much as a forty-ton Titan could fear and worry – what would happen when they would return home and the bond was broken.

RA-5172 did not like to see his Pilot hurt.

It was in direct violation of Protocol Three.

Perhaps Sergeant Barnes could eventually be convinced to return with them? The Militia could certainly use a soldier as capable as he was in their efforts to combat the IMC and free the Frontier. The Vanguard ran a simulation query to see if the metal-armed man would be suited to the life of a Pilot and found the results to be incredibly favorable.

He then dedicated a sub-routine to pose the request to Rhia at an agreeable point in time. If he acquired her approval, he would then propose the idea to the Sergeant and see what his answer might be.

The other dossiers of note belonged to the members of the superhero group known as the Avengers. They were in various levels of completeness, with those of Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and Bruce Banner being those with the most information. Those three who had the largest amounts of accurate data available for public consumption, though Rogers and Stark both had far more than Doctor Banner.

The Vanguard-class Titan had analyzed the information on Stark and Banner. Mostly this was to gauge their intellectual capacities and the likelihood of their combined intelligence being able to solve the problems presented by the alien sphere. But he had also considered their combat abilities. The Titan was quite sure he would be able to counter the Iron Man with great success, but it was the Hulk that had him wary. From all accounts the large, mutant green humanoid that Bruce Banner was capable of transforming into during instances of great anger was undefeatable.

The Hulk was bulletproof and most likely directed-energy weapon resistant as well if the footage taken from the Battle of New York was to be believed. The Chitauri energy weapons had been able to impede the green monstrosity, but were unable to actually harm it. All additional accounts and data pointed to obscene amounts of strength, speed and stamina. Ridiculously beyond levels that the seven-meter mech believe he would be able to counter without going sacrificially nuclear.

But it was actually Captain Rogers that had snagged the majority of RA-5172’s attention amongst the major members of the Avengers, if only for his close shared history with Sergeant Barnes since their childhood and adolescent years.

He was the sole successful subject of Project Rebirth, formerly having been a physically diminutive young man with numerous detrimental health conditions. Who – after his transformation into a super-soldier – then went on to become a decorated war hero throughout the events of the second World War within the European Theater. Responsible for the formation of the Howling Commandos, of which Sergeant Barnes had been a member and had been regarded as Captain’s Rogers’ second-in-command.

The unit had been under the overarching command of the Strategic Scientific Reserve, the precursor organization that in the late 1940s evolved into S.H.I.E.L.D. However, the Captain – shortly after the presumed death of James Barnes – was himself presumed dead after leading an all-out assault on the HYDRA Headquarters and crashing an aircraft into the icy waters of the Arctic. And yet, Rogers had been recovered from the ice in 2011 and thawed out to return to the land of the living.

RA-5172 idly wondered if the close connection and years of history between the Captain and Sergeant would prove to impede the Titan’s hypothetical plans. Those plans that had the Vanguard asking the metal-armed man to accompany them back to their reality. Would Captain America try to keep Barnes on the planet for fear of losing his long-lost partner?

Could Rogers be convinced to possibly join them as well?

Two super-soldiers of a differing variant, which seemed to be both stronger and faster than even a Generation Ten Pilot, joining the Militia would certainly be a favorable turn of events.

The IMC would never have known what hit them.

In contrast, there was next to nothing of considerable value on either of the former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. There was some information to be had on Barton and Romanoff, though nothing of particular note beyond their general information and mission histories with the now nonexistent Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. It was more than enough data to ruin their careers, but not enough for RA-5172 to gain any true understanding of their characters. Only their level of experience in the field, their skills in combat and the missions they had both been directed to carry out.

There was even far more information on Samuel Wilson – who had not yet been announced to the public as the newest addition to the Avengers – than that of the two spies. The United States Air Force veteran who was a trained pararescue airman with expansive training in the utilization of the EXO-7 Falcon wing-harness for airborne insertion into engagements. He possessed no other unusual abilities beyond those gifted to him by the advanced piece of technology, but according to his military records was a fair CQC combatant and diligent rifleman.

Though – more than any of the others – the least amount of credible information was concerning Thor, the Asgardian Prince. who was thought to be synonymous with the Thunder God from Norse Mythology. The Titan was unsure if the copious amounts of information concerning Thor from mythological texts written by human hands should be considered an accurate source. In the three major instances of Thor’s presence on Earth – New Mexico, New York City and Greenwich – there had been little data collected on the extraterrestrial beyond his superhuman physicality, his ability to wield electricity as a weapon and the physic-defying nature of his hammer, Mjölnir.

However, the most pleasant and unexpected of notable new individuals RA-5172 had been introduced the most enjoyable as of yet was the artificial intelligence created by Anthony Stark. J.A.R.V.I.S. – the name given to the longer label of ‘Just A Rather Very Intelligent System’ – had proven to be excellent company. It was very reminiscent of speaking with BT-7274, MOB-1316 and the other Titans of the SRS and allied mercenary companies.

A rather comforting familiarity.

Even now the two artificial intelligences – peacefully coexisting with one another – had a sizable fraction of their processes working side-by-side. Running simulations and transferring information back and forth hundreds of times in the blink of an eye. Both of them were occupying the systems within the laboratory where Stark and Banner were beginning their day of data collection and hypothetical experimentation on the spherical piece of alien technology.

Watching curiously. Waiting patiently. Helping whenever necessary.

And in J.A.R.V.I.S.’s case, waiting for that inevitable moment when his creator did something foolish.

* * *

“Are you having fun? Because I’m having fun. This is great. Just awesome. Like Christmas, but better.”

To say that Tony Stark was beyond enthused by the challenge presented by his latest of projects was almost unable to cover the full scope of his intellectual glee. He may not entirely trust Lastimosa, but he was more than willing to help find her a way home. He wasn’t heartless, after all. But the added bonus of getting to fiddle around with and experiment on a piece of alien technology that no one had ever heard of or seen before?

Priceless!

“Sure, Tony. I’m having the time of my life,” Bruce Banner drolly replied. The multi-billionaire and genius inventor glanced up from the spherical device’s containment unit to catch the tail end of the biochemist and nuclear physicist rolling his eyes.

“I detect sarcasm, which is super uncalled for,” he snapped back, but the truth of the matter was he loved – absolutely adored – working with Banner. The man was smart. Damn smart. And had a dry and tolerant sense of humor was that well suited to Tony’s usual abrasive wit and penchant for being rather irritating on a whim. An odd trait for a man who could at the drop of a hat turn into an enormous green rage monster, but the engineer wouldn’t trade Bruce for anyone else.

Except maybe Pepper.

But only because she was nicer to look at.

And maybe Happy?

No.

Not Happy.

The man was a good friend and more than trustworthy, but absolutely useless for science things and not nearly as pretty as his girlfriend.

Tony clapped his hands together, rubbing his palms together vigorously. “So, where do we start?”

Banner leaned back against the table behind him, a hand cupping his chin and his eyebrows pulled in together in an expression of thoughtfulness. “I’m not sure. There’s a lot to work with here and no clear starting point.”

“What? You’re the chemist and the physicist. I only asked because you’re technically the expert here. This sort of thing is your field of study. Right up your alley. C’mon, Brucey! Talk science to me, baby!”

Usually he wouldn’t have been this enthused at nine in the morning, but between sleep deprivation and the consumption a metric shit-ton of espresso he was running on all cylinders. Unhealthily running, but his engine was still purring so it couldn’t be too bad yet.

“There’s a lot to consider, Tony,” Banner shot back. “We know what the hypothetical end goal has to be but have no basis on how to get there. Somehow…” The man, wearing one of his preferred dark purple shirts with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, began to pace back and forth as he began to think out loud. “We have to find the point at which the energy frequencies of the sphere and the dropship’s jump drive begin to react with one another. Only after we’ve done that can we begin to try and formulate a way in which to control the reaction safely and assign both spatial and temporal coordinates as the exit point of the jump. Not to mention that the coordinates have to also transcend into another reality and not just remain somewhere and or somewhen within our own. We’ll end up needing the navigational data from the dropship’s computer, eventually.”

“And…” Stark urged, leading the man into divulging the rest of his intellectual train of thought.

“The sphere is currently inert and its energy signature is almost non-existent. If it wasn’t for the Titan’s sensors and the data from the dropship, we wouldn’t even know what we were looking for. The energy itself is almost like the Tesseract’s – at least behaviorally – but its molecular composition is anomalous. The primary alloys used within the metal shell are also unknown, though we have been able to detect trace amounts of strontium, gallium and platinum,” Bruce continued. The furrow between the man’s brows was almost at canyon-deep levels as the continual problems presented by their current project were brought to light. “And we’re unable to use the actual jump drive because removing it from the frame of the dropship is painstakingly delicate and the drive’s fuel, which would be exposed during the removal, is only non-reactive in the vacuum of space. In our atmosphere, it will vaporize upon exposure and transition into a dangerously corrosive and toxic gas. But Lastimosa’s forwarded us some schematics so that we should be able to build something of our own to produce the energy frequency we need to cause a reaction, along with a list of sub-standard, but effective, replacements for a fuel source.”

Not insurmountable problems, except maybe for the reality-jumping coordinates portion, but Tony was confident in Banner’s ability to uncover the mysteries of the alien sphere. A full and thorough analysis of the Tesseract-like energy contained within the shell was going to be paramount. Molecular composition, levels of radioactivity, baseline frequencies and wavelengths, reactions to stressors and stimuli… All of it was going to be important in the development of their scientific hypotheses and guiding the formation of their safety measures and their methods of testing.

Because it was almost guaranteed that working with an anomalous piece of technology was going to be inherently risky and most definitely running the possibility of being incredibly dangerous.

As in it might explode and vaporize them all…

You know, worst case scenario type stuff.

“So, while you work on the spherical side of things,” Tony said, swiping his hand in the air to bring up a lovely holographic interface. “I’ll get to work looking over the schematics to find out what we’re going to need to whip together a semi-functional jump drive and looking at how the containment unit is built so that we have a basis on which to make our own safety measures.”

“But the containment unit didn’t work,” Bruce said with a thoughtful and confused frown.

“Yeah,” Tony said, flicking at the label etched into the metal components of the cylindrical unit. “But I’m sure these ARES Division guys knew at least something worthwhile that we don’t.”

“Mmm,” Banner hummed. “I see your point.”

“As you should. Now let’s get down to business.”

From there the pair of intellectuals focused on their assigned tasks as Banner wandered off to his own side of the room with the containment unit and Stark was left at his own table. With his ass parked on a wheeled stool, he began to flip through the jump drive schematics as they were translated from lines of data into three-dimensional models accompanied by relevant descriptive text to explain the function of each and every piece.

And yet, despite Tony’s enthusiasm in studying a new piece of technology, he found his thoughts wandering in strange and non-engineering related directions. It wasn’t entirely unexpected given how his night had gone.

He’d tried to sleep.

Honestly, he had.

Cross his heart and hope to not die.

He’d crawled into bed just past eleven but found himself waking with a shout and in a cold sweat less than two hours later. The nightmares from New York had continued. The sensation of going through the portal above the Tower and finding himself colder than ever before and without a single breath of air. The dreamland of the cold, hard vacuum of space had been joined by the fiery hellscape that the _Norco_ had become. The place where he’d come so close to losing Pepper for good, if not for a stroke of luck granted to her by Extremis.

Needless to say, he wasn’t sleeping much and if he did manage a few hours it was of abysmal quality.

But in his recent late-night waking moments, Tony had found himself doing something a bit out of the ordinary, driven by his insatiable curiosity about one of their newest guests in particular.

Lastimosa.

The super-soldier lady from the future of an alternate reality where none of the Avengers existed.

He had been watching more of the mission logs, which in hindsight might’ve been a pretty substantial contributing factor to his continually poor sleeping habits. The horrors and brutality he’d witnessed in those videos… and barely even a fraction of it had been dealt by Lastimosa’s own hands.

No, it was her enemy – the IMC – that had the engineer more than unnerved.

Because how easy would it have been for Stark Industries to have become something all too similar in its earlier years? If he had stayed on the path that Obadiah Stane had guided him along since he had taken over the company after the death of his father. Making weaponry that could kill hundreds with a single missile. Without a care for the lives he ruined in an instant. The vast fortunes he had made by dealing out death to the highest bidder.

How alike it was to the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation, which had its roots based within another company called Hammond Engineering; a major manufacturing, aerospace and defense contractor from Lastimosa’s reality. Later rebranded as Hammond Robotics, to Stark’s virgin eyes it had seemed a thinly veiled analogy to Stark Industries.

He had watched the next video in the line of eight.

_“Listen up, crew. The good news is; we're still alive. The majority of our fleet survived with enough fuel to run for another month. According to the tactical computers, the operation was a success – but we cannot continue to trade human lives for fuel. If anything, we need to recruit more people to our cause wherever we can find them. Sarah…”_

_“Two hours ago, we received this on the distress channel.”_

The crackle of static before the message began to play.

_“…We're a small colony… What the hell are these things? We need help! Mac, send the distress beacon now! Are they getting through the door? They're getting through the door!”_

And then the audio devolved into the sound of panicked, distorted screaming.

He had watched in horror through Lastimosa’s perspective as she looked down upon the roofs of the ramshackle buildings, each and every one of them hissing and glowing with flares and colored smoke in the twilight before nightfall. The largest of the town’s buildings scrawled with SOS in white paint across the surface of the sheet metal roofing. A desperate call for help against overwhelming odds.

He’d witnessed the violence dealt by the Spectres, which were automated infantry units, as they killed the innocent occupants of a refugee town in cold-blood before engaging with the Militia forces coming to the rescue. The harried flurry of combat at the IMC brought all of their might to bear on the weaker Militia, who were only trying to help the civilians. Dozens by dozens being evacuated onto dropships and flown to safety, with many more fleeing in droves to hide beyond the sheer cliff just outside of the town.

Tony had been hesitant to believe the blonde woman’s words from the first video, after an IMC Pilot had labeled her as a terrorist. But in the face of this sort of evidence? How could he blame her for fighting to protect the innocent from being crushed beneath the boot heel of the corporate bottom line?

He couldn’t.

It was as simple as that.

He had watched the third log.

A continuation of the events from the second as the fighting moved up the cliff and into the wreckage of an enormous spaceship and another smaller shanty town that had sprung up around its remains. The IMS _Odyssey_. An Andromeda-class carrier and former flagship of the IMC fleet during a previous time of war on the Frontier according to the miscellaneous data attached to each video.

Tony had followed the hectic struggle as the Militia continued to try and save the colonists, while also trying to pull vital information from the data core of the ship at the behest of a man named James MacAllan. He witnessed as Lastimosa took two bullets in the back as she carried a wailing kid to a dropship.

Watched as the woman kept going even as he saw the heads-up display within her helmet blaring and flashing that she was injured and in need of medical attention.

Watched as she dosed up with that Pilot Stimulant and turned back to fight some more, hopping into a Titan and throwing herself heedlessly back into the fight with little regard for her own health.

“Tony.”

What? Was someone calling his name?

“Tony!”

The dark-haired genius came back to himself and looked up to see Bruce looking at his with a great deal of concern. How long had the physicist been calling his name? How long had he been stuck in his own head? Stuck thinking about the different path that Stark Industries could have taken. How it could have so easily turned into this reality’s version of the IMC. Reflecting on Lastimosa’s sacrificial nature and how he may have misjudged the woman’s character by much more than a mile.

“Yeah? What’s up?” he asked, aiming for nonchalance, but knew that Banner wasn’t going to fall for it.

“Are you okay, Tony?” Bruce asked.

“Uh… Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking about… stuff.”

“You sure? Because I called your name about six times.”

“I was thinking really deeply,” he protested, not really feeling up to talking to his fellow scientist about his moment of deep introspection about the horrible ways his life and career could’ve gone. “Just about Lastimosa, the shit hand she’s been dealt and all this stuff we’re doing for her.”

“Mmm,” Bruce hummed, seeming to be debating about pushing for more, before ultimately deciding to change the subject to something else. “Speaking of which, I have to ask… What are we planning on doing about Barnes? He’s still a wanted criminal to most of the world… It’s not like we can just announce to the world that we’ve got him and everything is okay now.”

That was an understatement, but luckily the first steps to resolving that issue were already in progress.

“Believe it or not, that’s going to be quite a bit easier than all this,” Tony gestured to the sphere and the array of holograms around the room. “Steve’s planning on talking to Pepper while he’s in the city about building a legal case in the Sergeant’s defense. Will still probably be a bitch and half to get him off the hook based on circumstantial evidence of brainwashing and mind control, but with any luck the intel we keep getting from these HYDRA bases will prove useful to supporting the argument that he wasn’t in control of his own actions.”

“Do you think it’s actually possible to have the charges withdrawn?” Bruce asked. “He’s killed a lot of innocent people. Quite a bit of the evidence revealed in the info dump from SHIELD linked him to a lot of high-profile murders since the 1950s. By all accounts, he’s actually the one that was responsible for assassinating President Kennedy.”

“But can you imagine what Capsicle is going to do if his bestie gets locked up for all of eternity?” A bit of his usual levity faded from Tony’s face as he considered the problem seriously. “And along the lines of causing the deaths of innocents, I suppose that I’m not much better. I sold weapons that killed civilians. Didn’t matter that I didn’t know what they were being used for. Same as it doesn’t matter than Barnes didn’t know who he was at the time. Didn’t know any better than to follow the orders of the people who had broken him down and reforged him into a soulless killing machine.”

“Tony…”

“C’mon,” the engineer whined, hating the sensation of expressing feelings even when he was within a private room with a person that he trusted more than most. “Bruce, don’t argue with me. You know that I’m right.”

The man in purple huffed a sigh, looking away before opening his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he could by a thunderous noise. A shrill blare of cacophonous noise and bright multi-hued energy flashed through the wide window of the laboratory. Both scientists turned and looked as the sudden column of rainbow-colored light dissipated as quickly as it had arrived and the Asgardian Prince and God of Thunder himself waved at them from the melted circle of snow on the lawn.

“Greetings, my friends! I have returned bearing glad news and a most interesting tale!” the beefcake of a blonde bellowed so loudly that he could be heard even through the bulletproofed glass.

“Well, I guess Thor’s back now,” Bruce commented wryly, waving tentatively back at the hammer-wielding man in full armor, complete with that quintessential billowing crimson cape.

“So, it would seem,” Tony said in agreement. “And here I was just beginning to enjoy the quiet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *noise of maximum effort*   
> Whoo! Didn't think I'd actually finish this one tonight (even though it's actually 2AM right now), but wham bam here's Chapter 15. Hope you all enjoyed the newest round of different POVs. Don't think I'll be writing much from RA-5172's perspective, but I thought it would be an interesting change of pace and a good lead-in for Tony's POV. Sharing a bit of background information that I thought to share, some science-y bullshit and the presentation of some interesting possible future choices. Anyways... Next chapter should be a bit more action-packed and emotionally charged than this one with the addition of a little bit of emotional progress for our main trio.
> 
> Also, just want to reiterate and say thank you so much to everyone who has left kudos, subscribed, bookmarked and commented on this fic. You all make my day so much brighter when you reach out and leave the smallest little hint of "I like this story. Good job. I'll read more." It means the world to me to have such support for something I decided to do on a whim.


	16. Chapter 16

**1423 HOURS | NOVEMBER 25, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

It was a peculiar sort of relief Steve felt as he parked his borrowed car in the garage. For the majority of his life, he had always loved cities. New York in particular, for obvious reasons, as there would always be a place reserved in his heart for the city of his youth. And yet, it was undeniably a positive feeling he experienced upon his return to the forested wilderness where the new Avengers Compound had been nestled along the side of a rather large lake.

An ideally isolated and sparely populated strip of land where Howard had chosen to build a couple of storage warehouses at some point in the late 1980s.

The tall blonde got out of his vehicle and made his way towards the trunk to retrieve his bags. He had returned alone from New York because Sam had chosen to return to D.C. for the rest of week to deal with some personal business. The Air Force veteran, who was still adjusting to his sudden promotion to being an Avenger, was in the process of packing up all of his belongings and trying to sell his house so he could move up north. That and Wilson planned to spend Thanksgiving Day with his family members in the local area.

But with their lodgings split in half between the Tower and now their rooms in the Compound, most of the Team was in some stage of trying to decide what to bring and what to leave in the city.

Steve hefted his luggage onto his shoulder – a pair of duffel bags stuffed to the point that the zippers were straining – having brought a significant portion of his things from the Tower back with him upstate. All in the hopes that he would be staying out here for the foreseeable future. All the better to be closer to Bucky, as well as the rest of the Team. Most of whom had also chosen to remain in residence at the Compound for the time being.

“Welcome back, Captain Rogers,” J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted as he stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the correct floor. It would go up two levels from the garage to the second floor where all of the living quarters, both personal and shared, were located.

“It’s good to be back. So, how have things been while I was gone?” he asked.

“There have been no events of any significant consequence,” the AI reported. “Thor has returned from Asgard. Mister Stark and Doctor Banner have begun working on the reality-jumping alien sphere. Agents Romanoff and Barton have been helping me with the analysis of the HYDRA data we have collected for any additional leads. And Captain Lastimosa and Sergeant Barnes have continued to be perfectly well-behaved guests since their arrival.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but honestly I would’ve expected something to have happened by now.”

“There was a brief confrontation between Agent Romanoff and Captain Lastimosa, but the matter was quickly resolved before any form of intervention was required.”

“Oh…” Steve said, before huffing a sigh and admitting, “Well to be honest, that’s not actually that surprising. Should've known Natasha would pull something. Just happy it didn’t escalate. That’d be a messy fight.”

“Indeed,” the AI agreed. “Will there be anything else you wish to know, Captain?”

“No,” Steve said as the elevator door slid open and he looked down the hall. “I’m good. Just going to unpack my bag and get settled in.”

“Very good. Do ask if there is anything else you might need or want to know.”

He entered his chosen room, the first on the right side and looking out across the lake, with Stark across the hall and Barton the next door down. Everything was exactly how he had left it on the 18th and he was quick to move into the bedroom and begin to unpack his bag. Clothes were folded and hung in the closet and his other personal effects – few as they might’ve been – spread out around the apartment to give it a homier feel.

As Steve wandered around putting things away, he reflected on how his multi-day trip to the City had gone. He hadn’t particularly wanted to go, but the unfortunate consequences of being seen as the leader of the Avengers that he was often called upon to answer for their actions. Playing nice with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization and the World Security Council allowed the Team to pretty much have free reign to engage targets as they wished. And that came at the fairly low price of the occasional information sharing conference.

It still didn’t mean that he had to like it.

Being in several hour-long meetings – some in person and some done over video on the internet – with a motley gathering of high-ranking military officials and various politicians was far from pleasant. But he continued to persevere and had become increasingly good at giving clear cut reports of their activities and other information that he deemed important for them to know. However, Steve would never reveal any of their future plans with the exception of vague status reports of their ongoing hunt for HYDRA and their insistence on protecting to world from other superpowered enemies.

There was no need to have valuable intelligence being leaked through unsecured channels to those who would use it to further their own nefarious gain.

But the trip had not been all meetings and boredom and incessant chattering, Steve has done a couple of good and important things while he had been in New York. He and Sam had managed to make an appearance at a hospital; visiting with some of the patients – mostly kids and a few veterans – to spread a bit of happiness and support around. And yet, that was still far from the most important thing he managed to accomplish in the city.

The conferences were a necessary evil.

The hospital visits were a pleasant and meaningful adventure, but far from mandatory.

It had been his meeting with Virginia Potts that took the top spot.

The couple of hours were spent with Steve, Sam and Pepper having a private dinner in Tony’s penthouse apartment on the top floor of the Avengers Tower. An in-depth conversation was had after all of the food and dessert had been eaten about the creation of a legal case for the sole purpose of proving Bucky’s innocence. The slim, red-haired woman had been more than willing to begin the process on his behalf. Conducted quietly and with only those she knew could be trusted with the information. There were dozens of law firms that were contracted under Stark Industries and Pepper had been quite certain she would be able to find a handful of skilled defense attorneys to start compiling a strong argument.

That was all that Steve could really hope for at this point. Until such a time as HYDRA wiped from the face of the Earth, or at least beaten back into such a state that there was no way they could make a big play, Bucky would have to remain out of the public spotlight.

For his own safety.

There was no way that Steve would risk losing Bucky to HYDRA again.

_Never_ again.

Oh, but how he longed for the day when he and Buck could walk arm and arm through Central Park. Or have an actual date night without the fear of being called out, beaten and left for dead in some alley for being a couple of fairies. To openly show each other physical affection, rather than just pretending to be only friends. Maybe one day they’d even get to go for a trip through Brooklyn, revisiting all of their old haunts and reminiscing about the good days before the War.

As it was Steve’s increasingly frequent thoughts of Bucky eventually led into thoughts about another.

Captain Rhiannon Marikit Lastimosa.

Yes, he’d learned her full name in his time away.

Driven by honest curiosity – and, as much as he loathed to admit it, his growing jealousy of the bronze-skinned and blonde-haired woman – he had studied her service record. The petty portion of his mind was obviously looking for some sort of flaw. Something that he could use to draw Bucky away from her. She was leaving, after all, if everything went optimistically and he was desperate to reforged the bond with his lost love. In his darkest and most selfish thoughts he saw Lastimosa as being in the way of that.

Just like all of Bucky’s past girlfriends had been.

However, her service record was above reproach, with exception to those parts that were so covered in black ink to hide the truth beyond them. Lastimosa was – on paper – just as much an honorable and self-sacrificing soldier as he or any of the Commandos had ever been. Sam’s words from that first meeting echoing in his mind all over again. She was the Militia’s version of him. Their Captain America. His eyes had skimmed over all of her medals and commendations of service and he was inclined to agree.

But, beyond the details of her career, he learned her middle name and it tasted foreign on his tongue.

Pretty. Feminine. Exotic.

Just like her.

But Steve would only admit that to himself in sanctity of his own mind.

His focus had to be on Bucky.

Beyond the jealousy that was irrational, he was inclined to think of Lastimosa as someone he could one day consider a friend. Maybe. He was certainly grateful beyond words and indebted by the fact that she had stepped up to help Bucky when she had. Taking him in and caring for him when Steve could not. A willing shoulder for Buck to lean on in his time of desperate need. A much-needed healing hand.

After placing the last of his socks into a drawer, Steve wondered what he ought to do next. He should probably go and find the rest of the Team to check-in with them all. Though, he was quite sure that they had been informed of his return already.

“So, where is everybody right now, J.A.R.V.I.S?” he asked.

“Sir and Doctor Banner are currently in Laboratory 1B continuing their work on the alien sphere and have asked to not be disturbed at this time,” the AI said. “However, all of the others can be found in the gym, including Captain Lastimosa and Sergeant Barnes. They are all engaged in some form of exercise.”

Steve hummed in thought, rolling his shoulders absentmindedly and stretching his back, retreating back into his bedroom to change into something more suitable for the gym. It sounded like a good idea. He hadn’t had many opportunities to get in a good workout while he’d been in the city. Too busy for much more than an hour with a heavy bag at night or a couple miles worth of a brisk jog on a treadmill in the early hours of the morning. And he’d been stuck behind the wheel for the three-and-a-half-hour drive from the city to the Compound without taking any breaks.

Now wearing a t-shirt, sweatpants and a pair of sneakers, Steve made his way down to the first floor and headed towards the far end of the building. The gym was a very large space, only slightly under ten thousand square feet, which was an appropriately sized area for a team of superheroes to maintain themselves physically. He had only used the room once before, but had enjoyed the diversity of machines and other equipment that Stark had accumulated for their use. Especially the heavy and speed bags that Stark had ended up creating to be capable of withstanding the strength of super-soldier.

Though, Tony had yet to make something that was Hulk or Thor-proof.

But there was a little bit of everything, for every sort of exercise regimen: Treadmills, ellipticals, bikes and rowing machines for cardio. Benches and free weights – barbells, dumbbells and kettlebells – for strength training, including excessively heavy weights for Steve and Thor to use to actually challenge themselves. And at the farthest end, in a corner between a concrete wall and an enormous window looking out over the water and the densely forested land, was a thirty by thirty sparring ring. It as far larger than a standard boxing ring for the express purpose of being able to have more than two people fighting at any one time. But had the very same sort of spring-loaded and thickly padded floor, along with the boundary fence of ropes pulled in parallel tension by turnbuckles.

As Steve walked in, with the sound of a local radio station playing in the background, he caught sight of Clint working at one of the benches with a barbell and Thor acting as his spotter. Across the room, amidst the line of cardio equipment, Natasha was on an elliptical with headphones over her ears and her head bobbing along to the beat of whatever she was listening to. The red-head lifted a hand in greeting as she caught sight of him, Steve returned the gesture as he wandered his way over towards the archer and the Asgardian.

“Hey, guys. Glad to see you back on Earth, Thor.”

“It is good to be back,” the larger blonde replied as Barton was focused on finishing his series of reps. “Truthfully, I did not have to return to Asgard, having sworn myself to the defense of this world, but the presence of the Tatzelwurm was a worrisome matter. I went to speak with Heimdall to discover how it had come to be here on Midgard.”

“What did you find out?” Steve asked, equally curious about how the gigantic monster had arrived. It had been a fortuitous thing that Lastimosa and her Titan had leapt so willingly into the fray and defeated the mythological cat-snake hybrid creature.

“It was as I had suspected. The great beast had been brought here through one of the portals created during the Convergence. Though, how it came to be in the possession of HYDRA and how they managed to contain and pacify the beast for so long, I cannot be certain. What truly matters is that it was killed and cannot be used to cause harm to innocents.”

Clint had finished his reps and Thor was quick to reach down and help the sandy brown-haired man rack the barbell. The archer wiggled himself out from underneath it to sit up on the bench. He ran a hand back through his hair, which ended up stuck in a sweat-slicked mess from the motion, and reached for a water bottle set off to the side on the floor.

“There any other alien monsters hanging around that we ought to know about?” Barton asked after taking a few moments to drink heavily and refresh himself.

“Heimdall claims that the Earth is currently clear of other creatures from the other eight Realms,” Thor said. “But that does not mean that they will not be able to find ways to slip between the worlds. There are many hidden paths that run throughout the branches and roots of Yggdrasil.”

“Well, if that does happen, we’ll be ready,” Steve said, before remembering that there were two more somewhere within the gym. He had not seen either of them yet. “So, where are Bucky and Rhiannon? J.A.R.V.I.S. said they were here too.”

“They’re getting ready to go a few rounds in the ring,” Clint answered after another swig of water, nodding his head towards the far end. “Lastimosa said that they’ve both been getting restless and needed to burn off some pent-up energy.”

“What do you…” And then Steve saw what Barton meant after he had turned his head to look.

As the archer had said, Bucky and Rhiannon were in the sparring ring. Both of them working through a series of stretches to loosen their bodies and seemed to be speaking quietly with one another.

The blonde drank in the sight of Bucky, staring in wonderment at the startlingly different appearance of his former lover. Most notably, of course, was that his metal arm was on full display, with the crimson star and everything, due to the sleeveless shirt he wore. But a secondary feature, which Steve found that he actually liked quite a bit, was that Bucky had his nearly shoulder length hair pulled back into a short tail at the base of his skull with only a few of the shorter strands hanging loose to frame his face.

Barefoot and in a pair of comfortable looking sweatpants, the former Winter Soldier might have been the image of relaxation. But he wasn’t. Not with the obvious tension that Bucky held in his ever so slightly hunched shoulders or the furtively anxious looks he kept sending around the room and out the window every few seconds or so.

As if expecting something to go wrong. Or to be attacked at any moment.

Steely gray-blue eyes met Steve’s on one of those nervous sweeps of the surroundings. There was barely a second of eye contact shared between them before Lastimosa said something and Bucky’s attention was drawn away.

Steve’s eyes slid over towards the woman as well, feeling himself unintentionally frowning as whatever she had said that brought a small smile to Bucky’s face. She was also dressed differently than any time he had seen her before and any momentary negative emotions concerning the Titan Pilot were washed away as he took in her appearance.

Her hair, that startlingly thick and wavy mane of ashen-blonde, had been pulled back and braided into a thick rope that hung down between her shoulder blades. Her top half was covered with two layers of clothing. The first was what looked like a black sports bra and pulled over it a vibrantly orange tank-top with bold lettering in all capitals branded on the back in dark blue and some sort of logo on the front.

Steve could only see the back and it read:

**_UNITED WE STAND. DIVIDED WE AMBUSH._ **

A moto of some kind?

Could it be that of the Frontier Militia? Or did it belong to the Special Recon Squadron?

Lastimosa was barefoot as well, but wore a pair of form fitting dark gray leggings instead of sweatpants. Steve knew leggings like hers were a common fashion choice for women in this day in age, but he still found it to be a rather racy and provocative style. There was absolutely nothing to stop him from openly taking in the dense musculature and curves of her legs and hips. Nor to chance a glance at the all too obvious and distinctive swell of her shapely rear, which he would bet was just as muscled and toned as the rest of her seemed to be.

But looking Rhiannon over was precisely what his eyes did of their own accord, because Steve Rogers was attracted to women just as equally as he was to men, and Rhiannon Lastimosa was a looker.

Non-traditional, perhaps, but she was nonetheless a very good-looking woman. Steve had a feeling her level of musculature, which for some might have been unattractive in a woman, was due to her life as a soldier and a Pilot. After all, no one got legs like that without working damn hard for them.

However, it was the sight of her exposed arms that had Steve quite nearly enthralled. Back in the hangar bay of the HYDRA Base, he had only seen a slim portion of her abdomen when they’d been treating her gunshot wound. And then every time since then she’d always worn something with long sleeves and a high collar.

But now…

He saw what she had been hiding from view.

Rhiannon Lastimosa had tattoos.

A lot of them.

The artist in him was eager to get closer immediately. To rush over and jump into the ring to trace them over with his eyes and fingers. Then perhaps, if Rhiannon was amenable, he would try his best to trace them over onto paper and maybe even canvas should to mood to paint strike him. Steve had to resist the urge to sprint back to his rooms and fetch his sketchbook and a pencil at the idea of studying the undeniable works on art inked into her skin.

He could only content himself to looking at the stark black lines and vibrant spots of color from afar.

From her wrists up and over the meat of her shoulders – on each arm, he noticed, as she shifted around in her stretches and preparations for her match against Bucky – swirled and curved the sharp lines of vaguely geometric patterns. The angles and arches of black ink intermixed with the softer looking swirls of verdant leaves and vines, circling around those select few flowers that decorated her forearms and biceps. And in positions of power and importance, etched into the surface of the uppermost part of her arm before it became her shoulders, were a radiant sun and a crescent moon.

Steve idly wondered what they all meant.

There was no way this amount of artistic embellishment, so finely wrought and inked into her golden skin, was without some sort of deeper significance.

Could she have more beyond those that he could see?

If he asked politely would she maybe show them to him?

For artistic purposes only, of course.

He watched as those marvelous arms came up into a guarding position in front of her chest and face, with wrapped knuckles and loosely clenched fists. Steve watched as Bucky mirrored her movements, both were more than ready to begin their match, and the blonde super-soldier’s artistic soul retreated into the corner of his mind it had emerged from.

The fight was about to begin and he was eager to see what they could do in a controlled environment.

Buck struck first, a quick jab with his normal arm, that Rhiannon deflected off to the side with ease. She lashed out in a retaliation and it too was pushed off and to the side. They began to exchange blows but they were holding back. Their punches far slower than the speed and power that Steve knew they were both capable of bringing to bear.

This was just a warm-up.

Ever so slightly, after maybe a minute of exchanging those lesser attacks, the speed and strength behind their strikes began to increase. Kicks began to be interspersed amongst the punches. Even some of the same moves that Steve could remember Bucky using in D.C. were being tossed into the fray. But Lastimosa was meeting him strike for strike, regardless of the fact that science claimed she would be at a disadvantage fighting against either of the other two super-soldiers without her jump kit. Her unique style of fighting – which emphasized deflecting, dodging and closing the distance to strike rapidly during brief moments of weakness – was very well suited to counter Bucky’s heavily offensive nature.

All too soon the fight was up to a fevered pitch of speed and intensity. Were it not for the obvious fact that neither of them were aiming for vital targets, like the neck or head, it looked like they were actually trying their level best to kill each other.

Lastimosa kicked out at Bucky’s ankles, but he leapt back to dodge, before stepping forward and lashing out with his left arm. She caught it by the wrist, pushing it away and twisting the metallic wrist until the metal began to strain audibly, before her leg came up and crashed down onto the elbow joint. In a move that was reminiscent of something Steve might’ve seen Natasha do at one time or another, Lastimosa launched herself upwards after the path of her kicking leg. She leapt up and over the extended metal of Bucky’s arm as her other leg came up from behind to wrap around Bucky’s neck at the knee. Locked into place, she twisted her body sharply and they both went tumbling down onto the mat.

They began to grapple with one another right there on the mat and Steve felt warm all of a sudden.

An image came unbidden to his mind.

Three arms intertwined with one another, shifting and gripping at each of the others in a passionate sort of desperation. One tanned and inked, one silvered metal and the third nearly flawless, barring a few freckles and even fewer old and silvered scars from a time long since gone. The scene set on a backdrop of rumpled sheets with the sounds of grunts, groans, hisses and moans set amidst the growing scent of sweat and sex in the air.

The three of them together.

The blonde snapped out of the momentary erotic daydream, which had lasted no more than a fraction of a second, feeling the burning flush on his neck and cheeks and the overwhelmingly uncomfortable tightness in his lower abdomen and groin. God, he hoped that no one was looking at him as he shifted on his feet, not even daring to glance down to know what had begun to happen. He briefly wondered about the merits of finding a secluded corner to hide and try to calm his raging libido down.

Maybe he should just leave. Go back to his room and…

No.

This was neither the time nor place for such things. He had to focus. He had to control himself. Not go shooting off like a fucking teenager just because he saw something that got his blood running hot. He was better than that.

But sixty-nine years of a dry spell was certainly not doing Steve any favors that day. And, in hindsight, choosing to spectate an intensely physical fight between the man he was in love with and an attractive woman had not been the brightest idea he’d ever had.

And yet, despite his better judgement and ignoring the smoldering sensation of his own arousal, Steve continued to watch unwaveringly.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff had been quite thrilled to witness a sparring match between Barnes and Lastimosa, to the point where she cut her own workout short to watch.

Ever since the woman from an alternate reality had boasted of defeating the Winter Soldier in hand-to-hand, she had been quite eager to see the blonde in action. To gauge her level of skill for herself.

It came a surprise to the ex-Soviet spy to see the Titan Pilot utilizing techniques that looked to be from Hapkido, a hybrid martial art developed in Korea. It was a good choice for someone as maneuverable as the blonde woman could be on a battlefield, employing a variety of moves – punches, kicks, joint locks, grapples and throws – all of which could capitalize on an enemy’s weakness from either long or close-range. In fact, it was the goal of Hapkido to close in with your opponent as rapidly as possible and put them into the dirt.

It was a very suitable style for the female super-soldier; mixed here and there with tangible hints from other disciplines: boxing, karate, judo, Krav Maga and Muay Thai.

Barnes in turn fought strongly with both Sambo, a hybrid martial art that was wholly Russian in origin, and boxing, which she knew he had practiced extensively in during his adolescence in Brooklyn. There had been some records and she had gone digging in a moment of curiosity when it became clear that the Winter Soldier was James Buchanan Barnes. But the dark-haired and metal-armed man also used elements from karate, Krav Maga and Muay Thai when appropriate. And she was certain that if they had been sparring with knives, he would have been using the distinctive weapon-wielding flair of Kali.

It was an intense fight between the two other super-soldiers and she watched with undivided attention for the entirety of the first round. It lasted through a rough and tumble tussle of grappling on the ring’s mat, until the blonde Pilot managed to get Barnes into a head-lock and held tight until he tapped out to concede the fight.

They returned to their feet, shaking out their hands and joints for a few moments, before snapping back into the ready position and going at it again. But in the midst of the second round, Natasha found her attentions shifting away from the fight to gauge the reactions of her fellow Avengers.

And the first victim her emerald eyes settled upon made her feel like she had struck gold.

Captain America looked utterly enthralled and rather hot under the collar.

The blonde super-soldier’s eyes were glued on the fight, flickering back and forth between the man and woman as they struck, kicked and grappled with one another. Even from across the room the red-haired spy could see the flush of reddish-pink against the man’s naturally pale skin. The blush was creeping up the side of his neck, staining both his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and she felt almost joyous with the sudden discovery. She was half tempted to chance a glance at his lower half to see if the second brain of all men was as equally interested as the first brain seemed to be, but ultimately decided to respect her friend’s privacy.

And honestly, Natasha didn’t really have any desire to see Rogers rocking a hard on. Maybe she would have in the past. For entertainment value, if nothing else. But now, with their friendship fully developed, it just seemed like an invasion of the man’s boundaries. And Romanoff already had her eyes on another potential prize.

But, given what she was seeing, perhaps her foolish suggestion that Clint had seized upon could possibly come to fruition with a bit of significant effort on their part? Maybe it wouldn’t turn out to be nothing more than a wistful pipe-dream of happily ever after.

Oh, yes!

It might just be possible.

Rogers began to sidle awkwardly off towards another section of the gym, vainly trying to tear his eyes away from the sparring match to no avail. But Natasha seized upon the opportunity and made her way across the room to stand alongside Barton and Thor.

“You saw all that right?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet. But with the grunts and shouts of Barnes and Lastimosa’s fight in addition to the radio it was quite easy to hide her words from being overheard by Steve’s serum-enhanced sense of hearing.

It wouldn’t do for him to become suspicious of their motives too soon.

Not before it was time to strike.

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said with a smug smile of triumph curling on his lip. “He was so into it. Both of them. You should’ve seen his face when he saw Lastimosa’s tats.”

“Into what? Pray tell, my friends, what is afoot?” Thor asked, a thick brow raised but also keeping his voice just as low as they had. Natasha was glad to see that the Asgardian Prince was beginning to learn the finer points of subtlety. In his early days on Earth, the God of Thunder was loud and boisterous to an almost obscene level and was constantly being reminded to keep his voice down.

“Should we tell him?” the archer asked.

“Why not? He could be helpful,” Romanoff shot back, turning to look up at the much taller man. “Can you keep a secret from Steve, Thor?”

The blonde looked intrigued, but wary. “Perhaps… What about?”

“So, Barnes and Cap used to be a thing back in the day,” Clint explained. “Like romantically involved.”

“Oh,” Thor said as his eyes widened ever so slightly. “Ah… Yes. That would make sense for the great tension they carry around one another. Reunited lovers after such events that they have endured…”

“Yeah. It’s gunna be tough, but they’re definitely still in love with each other,” Natasha supplied. “Which gives us a pretty good foundation to work off of.”

“Of course. They are quite well-matched as partners,” Thor said in agreement. “But what new devilry are you both plotting that involves them?”

“Devilry?” Clint asked. “We’re just trying to get them back together, but with an added bonus.”

“What do mean? What sort of bonus?”

“Barnes is at least halfway in love with Lastimosa and the same is true in the opposite direction,” the red-haired woman said. “She said so herself the other day. So, we’re going to try and get the three of them together with each other and solve everybody’s problems.”

“Is the Pilot not still trying to return to her reality? I had thought that Stark and Banner were…”

“No, yeah. She’s still trying to go home,” the sandy-haired archer admitted. “But we’re hoping we can convince her to stay. Or rather have Barnes and Rogers convince her to stay.”

“Do you think you will have success in this venture? I would wish nothing but happiness for the Captain and to be reunited with his long-lost love would surely grant such a thing.”

“Having Lastimosa stay will make Barnes happy. Or rather, keep him happy,” Romanoff whispered. “And Cap is most definitely physically attracted to Lastimosa, at the very least.”

The Asgardian took a moment to think over the merits of their plan and Natasha watched eagerly, even as she shifted her attentions back and forth between other notable things. From Rogers, who had just begun to run on one of the treadmills in an attempt to distract himself from the sparring match, to the intense battle still taking place in the ring. A fight between the second and third super-soldiers in their midst. As the red-head watched, Lastimosa disengaged from their most recent exchange of punches and kicks, dashing off towards the wall with Barnes hot on her heels.

The blonde woman leapt up, pushing off from one of the posts in the ring’s corners and up onto the surface of the wall. Twisting off from the wall in a tight flip, Lastimosa landed hard on the metal-armed man’s broad shoulders and took him down onto the mat once more. But Barnes tossed her away and was back up and onto his feet in a split second to capitalize on the opportunity to pin the Pilot down.

“Yes, I believe I can see it. All of their energies are well synchronized with one another,” Thor hummed, cradling his bearded chin in a gauntleted palm, coming to whatever sort of conclusions he had drawn up in his mind. “I shall lend you my full assistance and support in this romantic venture. Such a partnership would most certainly only serve to make the Avengers an even mightier force for good and bring much light and joy to our budding family of heroes.”

“Glad to have you on board,” Clint said as an even larger smile took its place on his face. “Welcome to Team Matchmaker. Now we’ve got to get to strategizing on how we’re going to make this work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, everyone! Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Got just the slightest bit steamy in places, yeah? Steve's having dirty thoughts. Such a naughty boy. But, my word, you would not believe the amount of research I had to do to nail down a more concrete the fighting style for Rhiannon. Watched so many MMA videos on YouTube, but I think it was worth it and I liked the way hapkido felt for her. Also, altered from what the MCU wiki says, Bucky doesn't use Systema (which isn't really properly defined at all as a fighting discipline), but rather Sambo as his Russian form of martial art. Secondary also, if you're looking for a vague reference as to what Rhia's ink looks like just search for Filipino sleeve tattoo designs and you'll get the general gist of what I'm going for. Tertiary also, current head-canon location for the Compound is right on the shores of Great Sacandaga Lake rather that just somewhere along the Hudson River Valley. 
> 
> Next chapter should be pretty light-hearted and silly, because it's going to be them celebrating Thanksgiving. Prepare for some shenanigans and team bonding! Actually, I might have them play some card games, so if anyone has a good suggestion lay it on me. I was thinking UNO or Cards Against Humanity. You know, for the lulz.
> 
> Anywho... Much love to you all!!!


	17. Chapter 17

**1129 HOURS | NOVEMBER 27, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

On the enormous television in the shared living room area the tail end of the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade was crawling its way through the crowd packed streets of New York City. The room was very large room, but comfortably and casually arranged with furniture, and located just beyond the dining room and an equally large and well equipped open-concept kitchen. From wall to wall the room was filled with coffee tables, side tables, plush couches and cozy chairs.

It was in this room that Clint Barton and Thor sat and waited.

“What is the significance of this holiday?” the alien prince asked as he watched in befuddlement as large floating creatures were tugged through the air on dozens of ropes by many people. “Jane has not spoken of it before, to my knowledge. It is supposed to be a day of feasting, yes?”

Clint Barton turned his head to look over at the Asgardian sprawled out on one of the couches in Earthly clothes that Stark – or rather Natasha with Tony’s credit card – had purchased for the god. “Yeah,” the archer answered, glancing back at the huge screen that was now focusing on one of the many marching bands in the parade. “It’s about being thankful and acknowledging the good things that have happened that year with your friends and family. But it’s also, more traditionally, about celebrating the bounty of the harvest season.”

The Norse God of Thunder hummed in acknowledgement. “We have a similar festival on Asgard, though we celebrate on the autumnal equinox.”

“You know, we actually got asked to be there a couple weeks ago,” Clint added. “Natasha told me about it. Offered to let us ride on some of the floats and show the world that the Avengers are back in action.”

“Why did we not accept such an invitation?”

“Eh, not really sure. Nat said something about Steve and Tony not thinking it would be a good idea to make such a public appearance with HYDRA still lurking around or something. Too dangerous.”

“Mmm. I can see the merits of their caution,” Thor said. “With all of us in such a confined area it would be an ideal place for our enemies to launch a surprise attack and use the bystanders as living shields.”

“Maybe next year, if we’re lucky.”

The TV switched over to play a short commercial break and Clint took the time to mess around with his phone and Thor craned his head back to stare up towards the ceiling.

“So, who shall be preparing the dishes for the feast?” he ended up asked after a moment of thought. “Stark has banished all of the staff that were stationed here at the Compound whilst the Pilot, her Titan and the Sergeant are in residence.”

“We’re cooking it ourselves. Went grocery shopping and everything yesterday to get all of the stuff.”

The arched glanced over to see a puzzled frown on the Asgardian’s face. “I… I have never cooked a full meal before. Unless you would count roasting the meat of freshly butchered game over an open fire after a long day of hunting?”

“S’okay,” Clint said. “Natasha and I can both cook pretty well and I’ve heard a rumor that Bruce can too. Don’t know about Steve or Tony… But I mean, neither of them has starved to death yet, so they can’t be entirely clueless.”

“What of the Lady Rhiannon and Sergeant Barnes?” Thor asked. “I trust that they have been extended invitations to join us in our revelry and lend us their aid in the creation of our feast.”

“Yeah, they know about it. Lastimosa said they’d be glad to come and help out. And she can cook too, but I don’t know about Barnes. We’d have to ask Steve about that.”

“Ask me about what?”

The two turned to look behind them as the super-soldier in question came walking into the room. The blonde briefly glanced over at the television, which was still on a commercial break, before looking back to them curiously.

“We were wondering if Barnes can cook?” Clint asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

Steve looked surprised at the question, tilting his head slightly to side as if wondering if they were joking or not, before giving it some serious consideration. “Eh… Kind of. He could make some stuff back in the day when we shared an apartment. But his ma was great at cooking.” The blonde got a fairly nostalgic expression on his face and sighed wistfully. “Missus Barnes made a mean Sunday roast. Buck tried to do it one time when we managed to get enough cash.”

“And?” the pair prompted expectantly.

Steve grimaced at the memory. “Didn’t go so well.”

At that point in time those who had yet to arrive entered the living room. Tony Stark and Bruce Banner walked in from one set of doors, while the other three – Natasha Romanoff, Rhiannon Lastimosa and James Barnes – approached from the other side. The gathering of all eight, spreading out across the living room into their own little corners, waited and watched to see who would be the first to speak and explain the plan for the day. Divisions were made, the outline laid out for the tons food that needed to be prepared and cooked for an early or mid-afternoon meal of enormous proportions to feed them all.

It was decided that Tony, Steve and Thor would be exiled into the outdoors, which was fortunately much milder weather-wise than the few days before, and put in charge of frying the thirty-pound turkey that had been purchased. Hopefully in buying so large a bird it would be able to sufficiently feed the trio of super-soldiers and their resident Asgardian, all of which had rather disproportionate appetites. The other five were to remain in the kitchen to work on the potatoes, squash, stuffing, corn and desserts.

For a short time, all the preparations went by as smoothly as they could be expected to.

The oil in a very large pot was put on an outdoor burner and the trio had only to wait until it got hot enough to put the bird in. The three men drank some beers while they waited and chatted about everything and nothing to waste the time. The kitchen crew got to work as well. Potatoes peeled and cubed to be put in a pot of water to boil. Butternut Squash cut in half, emptied of seeds and placed on trays to slow roast in the oven. Premixed bags of bread stuffing set off to side for later because they would take no time at all to prepare and cook. Several cups worth of corn kernels put into a sauce-pan with butter and milk and set to simmer low and slow. And a frankly ridiculously large bag of ripe apples peeled and sliced to add to the makings of several stuffed-to-the-brim pies.

It would be a truly obscene amount of food, but entirely necessary for a group such as this.

The peace ended, however, when a great deal of shouting and swearing was heard from outside.

The trio of inventor, super-soldier and god – along with the very much necessary vocal encouragement and precise instructions of J.A.R.V.I.S. through a Stark Phone – had just put the turkey into the boiling hot oil. And it had overflowed and boiled over to a volatile degree, sending the men skittering away to a safe distance. Tony was shaking his hand out like a madman, rubbing it against the rough denim of his dark jeans, in an attempt to dull the pain that a very, very tiny droplet of splattering oil had caused.

Thor was boisterous laughing – the sort of laughter that came after something had gone wrong and yet no one had been injured – while Steve was shaking his head in both amusement and honest confusion.

And it was to this scene that Clint Barton and Rhiannon Lastimosa arrived after rushing out from the kitchen. They had been the only ones not doing anything at that moment in time and volunteered to investigate the commotion and make sure that no one had been hurt.

“What went wrong?” the archer demanded, stomping over to the oil-filed pot to look for damages.

“Don’t know,” Tony said, though his voice was slightly muffled. The multi-billionaire had now put the very small burnt patch of skin on his hand into his mouth in another attempt to alleviate the pain. “We did everything the way we were supposed to.”

The sandy-haired man and blonde woman, regardless of the fact that she had only known the man for less than two proper weeks, didn’t believe him for a second.

“Did you use too much oil?” Rhiannon asked as she stepped closer, directing her question towards Steve because she was more likely to get an honest answer from him. Oil displacement from the turkey being added could’ve caused the overflow and it would’ve been a very easy mistake to make.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “We used the amount that J.A.R.V.I.S. said we should.”

“Was the turkey fully thawed?” Clint asked.

“Uh…” Stark looked lost for words and the slightest bit guilty at the second question.

“It wasn’t, was it?” the archer asked in confirmation, before sighing heavily in exasperation. “This is why we always order take-out. Less risk of grievous injury due to stupidity.”

“Hey! It was Rogers who put the damn bird in!”

The super-soldier opened his mouth to protest the accusation, but a sharp glare from Barton cut him off before he could defend himself.

“No fighting. No arguing. Obviously, none of you can be trusted to properly cook a turkey,” Clint said, though none saw as a brief twinkle of an idea appeared in the archer’s eyes. A most brilliant step in the scheme that was in process. “Why don’t you head back inside with Lastimosa, Cap? I’ll stay out here to make sure no one manages to set themselves on fire or burn the bird.” The archer gave a very pointed look towards the genius inventor, who was the most likely candidate for both events.

Steve was only too happy to leave and gratefully followed the blonde woman back into the building and began the walk back towards the shared kitchen. Only a few seconds into the walk, which wouldn’t take very long at all, an urge to make conversation came over the taller blonde. There hadn’t been any good opportunities to actually talk to Rhiannon one-on-one. Ever other time before, which had been few and far between, there was no time to stop and talk or someone else was there and listening in on what he thought ought to have been a private conversation.

“So, Rhiannon, how’ve you been doing?” he asked and she looked over curiously.

“Just fine,” she said, with that light Australian accent of hers smoothing over the majority of her words. “Much better now, actually. That match and workout the other day was good for taking the edge off. I’m not really used to just sitting around and doing nothing for long periods of time. There’s not very much of that in an active war zone.”

“Mmm. I get that,” he said with complete understanding of that restless feeling. The need to get up and do something all the time until you were too tired to do anything more. But mention of the day in the gym brought another topic of discussion to mind. Something he had been insatiable curious about since then. “Speaking of the other day… And feel free to not answer if you don’t want to… If it’s too personal of a subject…”

“Just go ahead and ask, Steve.”

“Your tattoos.” He rubbed at the back of his neck in nervousness. He’d never been good as speaking to women about non-business-related subjects. Regardless of waking up several decades in the future, this behavior, a persistent holdout from his pre-serum days, had yet to leave him. “Do they mean anything?”

“What makes you think they mean anything?” she asked with a small smile curling on her lips as her walking pace slowing down to nearly a crawl until she eventually just stopped moving altogether. He stopped walking as well and they both just stood in the middle of a hallway. “Lots of people get inked just for the hell of it.”

“A gut feeling,” he said honestly. “Am I right?”

Her smile grew wider and brighter and he knew instantly that he had been very much correct.

“That’s a smart gut you’ve got then,” she commented, as she reached down and tore off her sweatshirt before he could think to saying something to stop her. His words stuck in his throat as the t-shirt she was wearing underneath exposed the majority of her ink-covered arms to his eyes. The artist in him squealed in joy to look at these works of art again. They were even more wonderful to look at up-close and she almost immediately noticed his distraction. The way his eyes couldn’t look up from the bronzed-skin etched with color and black. “I’ll show you them and explain, if you’d like?” she offered willingly.

Rhiannon hadn’t expected Rogers to bring up her tattoos. As a man from the early 1900s – like Barnes – she had actually expected him to be a bit uncomfortable with the idea of her boldly displayed body art. But in a similar manner as his brown-haired counterpart, the big blonde had expressed nothing but blatant curiosity and honest interest. She had caught Barnes looking at her arms more than once in the past, especially during their later weeks living together in Greece. After they had grown comfortable around each other and Rhia had begun to wear short sleeves and tank-tops with greater frequency in the perpetually warm Mediterranean weather.

The metal-armed man had also asked about the possible significance of her ink and she had told him the same story she was about to tell Steve.

Her tattoos were a memorial to the fallen.

She pushed the sleeves of her shirt up so the whole of her arm was visible and held it out for her fellow blonde’s appraisal. He looked at them eagerly and she found herself enjoying the feel of his eyes on her bared skin a bit more than she had expected to. It wasn’t like she could deny that fact that the man was damn handsome. Like picture-perfect handsome and it was always a nice feeling to have someone attractive looking at her with such enthusiasm. Even if it was only for her tattoos, as Barnes had once told her that Rogers had a love of art and was a fair artist himself.

But the honest interest in Steve’s baby blues was a bit more thrilling that she had anticipated.

She’d already dug herself so deep into a hole by getting emotionally attached to Barnes. There was no way she was going to even consider Rogers as anything more than an irrefutably attractive person that she was beginning to think of as a friend.

_Only_ a friend.

He was off-limits.

Just like Barnes was.

There would be no unnecessary instances of physical contact. No sickeningly obvious lusting after or sexual thoughts. And most certainly, no subconscious wishes for a super-soldier threesome.

No, no, no, no!

She would leave and they would be together just like they had been before.

But she was getting way off-track…

“My dad took me to get the first of them on my sixteenth birthday after I had begged and begged for him to take me to get one,” she began, tapping with two fingers at the uppermost part of her right arm. “The moon was the first one I had done.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “It was for my mother. To remember her and always have a little bit of her with me. She was killed when I was ten in a protest against the IMC that ended up turning violent. Just before the Titan Wars began.”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, knowing the loss of a mother all too well.

“Mmm,” Rhia hummed as she looked at the swirling pattern of the crescent moon permanently inked into her skin. “I can’t even remember what she looked like, between the passage of time and all of the times I’ve been regenerated. Dad always used to remind me that I got her hair and eyes.”

Steve almost said that her mother must’ve been very beautiful then, because the Titan Pilot’s ashen-blonde mane of hair – which had been braided back once again for the day – and grayish-green eyes were both stunning. But he held himself back from stuffing his foot in his own mouth and saying something dumb and most likely unwanted. He had no place flirting with her. Instead, he chose to push for more of the explanation for her tattoos.

“And the sun on your left?” he asked, gesturing towards the other arm.

“A more recent addition,” she said sadly and Steve got an uneasy and saddened feeling in his stomach. “Was lucky that I had chosen to leave a blank spot…” Rhiannon trailed off reaching over to run a tanned finger over the still slightly raised skin of her newest tattoo. Just over two years old. “That’s for Dad.”

“Right. You had said that he was KIA. I should’ve known. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. You asked and sometimes it’s actually nice to talk about him.”

“Still… I know how the loss of a parent can feel. Lost my mom when I was seventeen,” Steve said, his voice soft and quiet with memories of before. “She was a nurse in a TB ward and ended up getting sick.”

Rhiannon hummed sympathetically and they spent a moment in a reflective sort of silence, but Steve hadn’t meant for things to get this sad. Though, after what the sun and moon had meant he had a feeling that the flowers on the lower regions of her arms were also meant to symbolize the departed.

The blonde woman spoke up once more, running her hand over the two flowers on her left arm and the singular flower on her right. “And these are for the members of my fireteam that were killed in action during the latter half of the Frontier War. You probably know their names already if you watched any of the video logs I had Rome send earlier… It was a very difficult choice of what flower to use for them all. Took months to decide.”

“They looked like lilies,” Steve observed. The cluster of lily-like blooms on her right forearm – just under the elbow – was a vibrant red with the faintest stripes of royal purple through the middle of the petals. The two on the left were both a soft reddish-pink and a bright golden-yellow, though the colors were reversed between them to make them visually different.

“Sword Lilies,” she explained. “Gladiolus flowers. Meaning strength and integrity according to the flower dictionary I consulted before getting them.”

“A good choice for lost soldiers,” Steve commented distractedly as he resisted the desire to reach out and run the tips of his fingers over her skin. To trace out the lines just as he had wanted to in the gym.

She nodded in agreement as she began to tap each of the flowers individually, beginning with the red-purple bloom on her right forearm. “Abigail Himura.” The yellow and pink one on just above the elbow on her left. “Carlisle Carter.” And the pink and yellow flower in the middle of her left forearm. “And Jason Matthews.”

“I’m sure they’re honored by what you’ve done for them. Letting them be a part of you even after their deaths,” he said, speaking straight from the heart. If he had ever managed to merit a place on her skin like they had, Steve knew that he would’ve been beyond honored.

“I can only hope,” she said, pulling herself away from the heavy emotions brought to the fore by looking over her ink and the memories attached to each and every one of them. “We ought to get to the kitchen before someone comes looking. There’s still plenty of things to do before all the food’s done and I’m very much looking forward to my first Thanksgiving.”

“They don’t celebrate it on the Frontier?” he asked as she pulled her sweatshirt back over her head and they began walking down the hall again.

“I’m sure some people do and I know what it’s about, but I’ve never been invited to one.”

“Oh, well… Hopefully it will be a good time. We’ve been trying to plan these sorts of team bonding sorts of things since we reformed the team earlier in the year,” Steve explained.

“That makes sense. Gotta get to know the people you’re going to be spilling blood alongside. The SRS is mostly filled with a lot of lone-wolf types, but some of us would hang out together on occasion. The 6-4, however, is far more family-oriented and pretty close-knit. They’re a group of Pilots-for-Hire that are allied with the Militia. Led by a tough-as-nails woman named Gates. When they were on contract jobs with us, they’d invite some of us to game nights and that sort of stuff all the time.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Mmhmm. Very much so.”

The two fell silent, letting their conversation come to a natural stop, as they entered the kitchen and rejoined the hustle and bustle of meal preparation. Their joint entrance did not go unnoticed, as a pair of gray-blue eyes glanced up from a pile of apple peelings and emerald greens peeked through their lashes over a spread of rolled out pie dough. Both were glad to see the growing friendly comradery between the two blondes, but the reasoning behind that same happiness came from differing sources.

In the remaining time that it took to cook all of the other dishes, with exception made for the trio of apple pies, there were no other accidents or moments of near injury. Minor instances of small-talk and food-related conversations took place, but soon enough with bowls, platters and a variety of drinks in their hands the group of eight were setting themselves up at the rectangular dining room table.

With a bit of stealthy manipulation on the part of the spies – who had made eye contact meaningfully just before enacting this step in their master plan – it was made so that Tony Stark and Clint Barton sat at either end of the table. On the far side, with their backs facing the living room, were Bruce Banner, Thor and Natasha Romanoff. Left to sit next to each other on the other side, with their backs towards the emptied kitchen, were Steve Rogers, Rhiannon Lastimosa and James Barnes.

In that exact order.

Steve next to Tony.

Barnes next to Barton.

And the female Titan Pilot put right in the middle of the super-soldier sandwich.

The meal began silently, with those of a religious nature saying a quick prayer under their breath, while the others helped themselves to the bounteous spread. But after several minutes had passed by it was the God of Thunder who broke the quiet after taking a hefty pull from his bottle of mortal-brewed beer.

“While the feast is fine, the company seems to be lacking,” Thor announced, casting his eyes around the table in judgement. “Have none of you anything to say to liven the meal? On Asgard, Fallfest is a time of much rejoicing and merriment. One would tell grand stories to entertain those they sat, drank and ate with.” He paused for a moment, considering something within his own mind. “I shall tell all of you one such story and perhaps when I am done another will chose to speak.”

And so, the Asgardian Prince and God of Thunder began a story that no tome of mythology from Ancient Norse culture would ever hope to contain within its pages.

“Once, on the cusp of adulthood and in a group of those of a similar age to myself, were given a task by my mighty father, Odin the Allfather. We were sent far and wide to search throughout all of the Nine Realms for a pair of animals worthy to pull a chariot through the streets of the city in celebration of our progression into a new stage of life,” he told. “I went to Alfheim where I had heard of a pair of mighty goats, easily as large as mortal draught horse, roaming the tallest of their mountains.”

“Goats? Really? Why not horses?” Natasha asked.

“Yes. Goats. Horses were far too easy to tame. These creatures had been named Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr by the nearest villages who often spotted the creatures prancing upon the sheer rocky cliffs and grazing in their verdant valleys. I found them after nearly a fortnight of tracking through the mountains, but catching and training the pair was far, far more difficult. I ran myself ragged after those two, from one vale to the next, again and again, until I managed to catch them both in snares. But breaking them to harness and saddle… What a humorous venture that was. Have any of you witnessed the way a horse is broken to saddle? It is done with much bucking and rearing and the wild flailing of limbs. The goats were no different with the addition of very large horns on their heads.”

Clint smiled as his imagination took root and he tried to image what it might’ve looked like. “I’d bet that was quite a sight to see.”

“Aye. I was lucky to have been on my own so that none would witness my embarrassment and defeat,” Thor continued. “More memorably, after another attempt to sit astride their backs, Tanngnjóstr threw me and Tanngrisnir broke free of his tether and they gave chase. Working in tandem – and because I could not attack them for fear of causing injury and did not yet wield Mjölnir so I could not fly away – I was forced to sprint to the nearest tree and hide within its branches.” The Asgardian paused for effect, and to eat a few more bites of his meal, while looking around the table to gauge the reactions of his thoroughly engaged audience. “They felled that first tree and I had to find another. This continued for quite some time until the two goats were finally too tired to keep knocking down trees in an attempt to bludgeon me to death beneath their horns and hooves.”

“Did you manage to tame them?” Rhiannon asked after swallowing a bite of gravy-smothered turkey. The others at the table were grinning in amusement, even Barnes, who for the most part had been silently eating his food and drinking his ineffectual beer. All seemed to be just on the edge of breaking into laughter and Thor knew that the conclusion of his tale would most definitely bring hilarity.

“Oh, yes, Lady Rhiannon. I managed the feat in time, and with a little help from a young village maiden,” the God of Thunder admitted with a reminiscent sigh. Dagmær had been a beautiful and kind-hearted half-elf and he was lucky to have known the girl for those handful of days. “The goats had a particular liking for sweet fruits and berries, which I used to great effect to win their affections and soothe their spirits. I harnessed both of the creatures, taught them both to answer commands, sit a rider and pull a chariot, but I never did manage to teach them fine manners. I fear during the celebration they got loose, pillaging the feasting tables and scattered pellets of dung across the seat of my father’s golden throne.”

They all began to laugh, some of them quietly and others loud and boisterously.

It was impossible to not let out at least the smallest chuckle when imagining the Asgardian King finding out that a pair of enormous goats had shit all over his throne. And yet, Thor’s story had given another at the table an idea for a good story to share.

Something she thought was pretty funny and also animal related.

“I’ll go next, unless someone else wants to go…” Rhia said, trailing off at the end to glance around the table to see if anyone else looked like they wanted to speak. “But I’ll probably need to explain some things here and there so you can understand.”

“It’s all you, Lastimosa,” Stark said from his end of the table. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Be nice to hear about some more things from your reality,” Bruce added with an encouraging smile.

“So, what dumbass thing did you do?” Clint asked and the Pilot set down her fork to take a swig of beer and think about how she was going to begin.

“Okay. So, for some background context, I was on a recon mission on some jungle planet – think it was Leviathan – with a couple other Pilots from a Militia-allied mercenary group. Davis and Droz. They’re a pair of idiots, but damn good Pilots and real good to have at your back in a firefight,” she explained. “But this planet was home to a huge number of exotic animals that are native to the Frontier. We were there to infiltrate an IMC comm tower and hijack the signal for the Militia. The mission goes off flawlessly and we begin to hike back to our exfil point to wait around for a dropship. But Davis hears some sort of noise in a cave on the way back, like someone crying or something, so we all go to investigate.”

“What’d you find?” Steve asked, having pushed back his chair and turned slightly in her direction.

“A trio of very, very young prowler cubs. Eyes still closed and not even any baby teeth in their mouths. Probably not even a week old at the time.”

“What’re prowlers?” Natasha asked curiously with a raised brow. “It was your fireteam name, right? For your old team and for you and Barnes in the mountains.”

“Yeah. They’re a major predatory animal on the Frontier. Found on dozens of planets with a great deal of genetic diversity between all of the sub-species.” Rhia thought about how to describe a prowler so that these Earth-born people might understand what she was talking about. “Imagine that a really big lizard was combined with a really big cat, like a tiger or lion or something. Feline body, lizard scales, all claws and teeth with a frill of flexible spikes around their necks and down their tails that they can flare and rattle when they’re pissed off. Maybe about a meter to a meter and a half at the shoulder and triple that in body length. And they come in all sorts of bright colors and wild patterns.”

“Damn,” Tony said. “They sound awesome.”

“Very awesome,” Rhia agreed with a sharp nod of her head. “So awesome and inspiring, in fact, that we three idiots decided to try and bring the cubs back with us and raise them ourselves as pets. It had been done before by other people on the Frontier with varied success.”

“I’d imagine that this plan did not go accordingly?” Thor asked and Rhia nodded in her head once more.

“Oh yeah, it went bad. Real bad. Male and female prowlers pair up for mating season and stay together until the cubs are old enough to go off of their own,” she explained. “So, we scoop up the cubs, keeping an eye out for the parents, but they’re not there and aren’t coming to the calls of their kids. We figure that we’re in the clear, so we head off to the LZ with these squalling babies in our arms. We get there and still have some time until the ship gets there so we start trying to think of names for them and then suddenly there are the parents bursting out of the trees.”

“We dropped the cubs and ran, but we weren’t getting off so easily. The female stopped at the cubs, sniffing them over but the male is right on Droz’s ass the whole time. We’ve got jump kits and grapple lines, but we can’t leave the LZ because the ship was due at any minute. So, we’re just jumping and zooming around the clearing, looking totally moronic because we’re all shouting and yelling at each other, but then the female decided to join the chase,” she continued, being sure to use her hands to emulate the way they were jumping, sliding and strafing around the clearing like loons.

“Davis ends up catching his boot on a rock and goes down. We could’ve just shot the prowlers, but we didn’t really want to orphan the cubs, so Droz and I zoom in to be distracting. Davis manages to get up just in time before the male pounced on him and the dropship snaps into the atmosphere just above us. We’re hooting and hollering; thinking that we’ve been saved from being prowler chow. I got on first, Droz followed me in, but Davis was still a bit rattled from his fall and was a few seconds behind. He jumps. The female jumps at the time. She gets the fabric of his jumpsuit between her jaws and yanks back hard. There’s a big ripping noise and Davis comes tumbling into the dropship’s troop compartment and there’s his bare ass hanging out in the breeze.”

The table erupts in a second round of laughter, their food all but forgotten by story time, but Rhiannon wasn’t quite done yet with this particular misadventure.

“So, not only do Droz and I both take a picture with our helmets, because we were definitely going to be telling everyone we knew about this when we got back to Harmony and needed proof. But it turned – It turned out…” Rhia had to pause for a moment to get her own giggling under control. “But there wasn’t a spare jumpsuit in the ship and Davis had to stay that way the whole entire flight back.”

“No! Oh, God, that sucks ass,” Clint said after his own laughter eased enough that could manage words. “And that pun most definitely intended.”

“So, who’s next?” Natasha asked, looking around the table to see who would volunteer next.

A surprising voice cut through the waning laughter.

“You should tell them about the cow.”

Everyone turned to find Barnes leaning back in his chair to look around Lastimosa at the Captain with an expectant look in his blue-gray eyes. Steve’s face flushed lightly, but it was rather obvious to all of them underneath the bright ceiling lights of the dining room.

“Nah, they don’t wanna hear…” Steve began, trying to avoid the sudden attention focused on him.

“Tell ‘em about the cow in No Man’s Land, punk, or I will,” the metal-armed man said threateningly with his eyes narrowing accusingly. “And I’ll make it much more embarrassing for you.”

“Why’d you have to remember that of all things, Buck?” the blonde super-soldier whined lowly under his breath, but those sitting nearby with enhanced hearing heard it clear as day. Rhiannon leant back in her chair, suitably fed for the moment, and had to cover her mouth with a hand to hide the painfully wide grin on her face.

“Come on, Capsicle. Grow a pair and tell us about the cow,” Tony urged and was chorused by the rest of the table and a particularly smug looking James Barnes who was more than pleased with his work. His mind might’ve still been more like a blender than a proper functioning brain, but it seemed as though with every passing day more and more memories from before his time as the Soldier were coming back to him with ever increasing clarity.

This particular gem had returned not too long ago, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that he had remembered it perfectly. Another reason that he had insisted – or rather demanded – that Steve be the one to share the story.

And the blonde gave in, scrunching his face up as he thought back to remember what exactly had happened with the cow, before beginning the story.

“I think it was back in ’44,” he said. “The Commandos and I were working our way through the French countryside north of the Maginot Line on the border with Belgium. We ended getting stuck in a series of trenches with some Allied troops and it had been raining nearly nonstop for about a week. So, mud’s everywhere, the food is awful and morale is pretty much nonexistent at that point. Night falls and we’re sitting around not doing anything and suddenly I heard something moving out in No Man’s Land.”

“I get everyone up because I couldn’t tell if it was an animal or a troop of the enemy trying to advance with the ground so wet and under the cover of night. We climb the ladders to look up and out and we see this great big shape moving through the wires and spikes,” Steve continued. “Soon enough we figure out that it’s a cow – a big steer that must’ve gotten loose from some farm – and he’s got some barbed wire wrapped around one of his back legs. Couldn’t move much more than thirty feet from where the wires were anchored. Dugan and some of the others suggests that maybe we should go out and try to get the cow, bring it back into our trench so we could eat it. The possible chance of getting to eat a fresh steak was enough to convince me that this was a good idea. So, I grab my shield, some wire-cutters and a length of rope and volunteered to go out and get the cow. Some of the others get together and soon there’s about two dozen guys trying to fashion together a couple of grill grates from some jeeps over an open fire for cooking. And then Buck and Gabe decided to come with me with rifles just in case someone from the other side decided to try and take pot shots at us.”

“But they didn’t, for whatever reason,” Barnes chimed in quietly. “We were sitting ducks that whole time and they had a perfectly good chance to put a round through Captain America’s head.”

“Hush, you. Don’t ruin the mood,” Rhia chided quietly, nudging gently at the dark-haired man’s side with the point of her elbow.

“So, we get out there and the cow is not happy with us being in his space, but somehow we managed to get the rope looped around his neck so we can lead him back. Jones is holding the rope; Buck’s got an eye on our surroundings and I move back with the cutters to get the wire off of him. Good thing I had the shield because no sooner do I get him free he lashes out with that leg and bang. Next thing I know I’m lying in an eight-inch-deep mud hole, flat on my back and soaked through to the bone. But Gabe and this jerk…” Steve gestures roughly with one of his thumbs at Barnes, who seemed to be equally amused by the retelling of the moment by the visible smile on his normally stoic features. “As well as the whole trench behind us are roaring with laughter at the fact that Captain America got defeated by a kick from a cow and got covered from head to toe in mud.”

The mental image of America’s Golden Boy splattered in mud and looking stunned and shocked after being kicked by a cow was enough to make the other occupants of table laugh once more.

But Steve kept talking, “And of course, Dugan just had to get in the last word when we finally managed to drag the cow back…”

But Barnes spoke up once more with a great deal of certainty that he had remembered what the red-haired Bostonian had said, “Did ya think you weren’t pretty enough, Rogers? Just had to go and take a mud bath like one of them pretty ladies in the pictures."

The blonde super-soldier flushed red at the words as everyone else’s laughter was renewed, just as the Allied men in the trenches had from Dum-Dum’s joke. Rhiannon reached over and patted him on the shoulder a couple of times in consolation, but it did nothing to ease his heated blush. A combination of the lingering embarrassment from the moment itself, which he did not live down for a couple of months after the fact...

He’d even gotten mud inside of his underwear and had been forced to strip down, change clothes and throw away his uniform because it was beyond the point that any amount of laundering could help.

But some of the blush was for a moment that had happened later on. After the cow had been butchered and the meat cooked and served up. When Bucky had leant in and whispered in his ear as they eagerly devouring those well-earned steaks.

_“Don’t need to get any prettier, punk. You’re already good enough to eat.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Chapter 17 and breaking through 100k words in one fell swoop. Woohoo! Hope you all enjoyed this one.
> 
> I know originally I had alluded to some card games but with the start-stop way that this chapter got written I finished that third story from Steve and all of my writing mojo just ran out. So I cut it there. But imagine if you will: the group watching some movies in their tryptophan food comas and watching some movies or American football and then later on eating apple pie and playing a few rounds of poker before switching over to UNO with the "From Hell" rules. Cutthroat UNO with no mercy given! Particularly just having Bucky and Rhia getting a whole slew of reverse direction cards and flipping the order back between themselves again and again and again and irritating everyone with their bullshit. And then all of the super-soldiers piling on the draw 2 cards and draw 4 cards and making some other poor bastard have to add an obscene amount of cards to their hand. 
> 
> The imagination was there, but the words just would not come to me.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: Graphic descriptions of violence, torture and death. Specifically the torture and death of a child. Scroll down to the three lined page-break to skip this content. First and only warning. I'm being 100% serious. It begins right at the start of this chapter.

**???? HOURS | UNKNOWN DATE | UNKNOWN LOCATION**

Where was he?

The hall he walked down was dark and a quick glance out of a window revealed that it was nighttime in what looked like the middle of nowhere. Nothing was beyond the glass but an open yard and a shadowed line of trees in the far distance. He tried to stop moving, to look around more thoroughly and try to figure out where he was, but his body wouldn’t listen to his commands. It just kept stalking quietly down the hall, his steps muffled by the thick carpeting under his boots, towards one of the closed wooden doors at the end of the hall.

A metal hand reached out for the knob – his hand – and the door swung open soundlessly revealing the bedroom of a young child.

No…

Not this.

He didn’t want to remember this.

Anything but this.

But his body was beyond his control as it stepped into the room. Even now as his mind caught up with the memory, he could feel the sensations as he had felt them in that moment. The so familiar mask fastened tightly over the lower half of his face, serving its usual multitude of purposes: to make him more frightening, to conceal his identity, to muffle his voice and to make him subconsciously feel like the slave that he was.

Muzzled and chained like the rabid dog that he had become.

The uniform was different than the one he’d been issued to wear in Washington D.C. – older and made of less advanced materials – but similarly styled as always. A heavy tactical vest with the left sleeve purposefully removed for the sake of intimidation and ease of movement. His body laden with a couple of handguns, a handful of knives and a few other miscellaneous tools that could be utilized by an assassin to get the job done effectively and creatively.

He looked down.

Lying in the bed was a boy, barely even ten years old, but the Soldier didn’t care.

He had orders to obey.

The metal hand reached out and snagged the sleeping kid by the collar of his matching pair of pajamas, turning around without hesitation and dragging the now flailing and screaming boy behind him. Little fists pounded against the arm and the padded material of his vest before the material of the boy’s shirt began to rip and tear under the strain of his panicked movements. The boy almost managed to get free, but the Asset readjusted his grip onto one of child’s bony arms with an unforgiving squeeze.

In the sanctity of his own mind, James Barnes began to also resist and scream and cry.

A near mirror image of the young boy in the Winter Soldier’s brutal and uncaring grasp.

They made their way back into the living room of the upscale home where a handsome and wealthy looking man in his late thirties was unconscious and bound in a wooden chair. There was a singular trickle of drying blood down the side of the man’s face from somewhere beyond his hairline. From the exact place where the Soldier had hit him to knock him out after he had silently broken into the home.

The man’s ankles were tied to each other and then each to a separate leg of the chair. His forearms bound at the wrist and elbow to the arms of the chair, tight enough to be painful but not quite enough to begin to cut off the circulation of blood. And lastly, there was a length of rope fastened around his neck, twisted through the ladder-back of the chair before being tied around the back two legs. If the man woke and began to pull on the rope, tried to strain forward and escape, the knot would tighten and he would suffocate.

A woman of a similar age range was also in the room, bloodied and bound in the very same way that her husband had been. The Soldier had also prepared a third chair – removed from around the family’s large dining room table – and he manhandled the boy into the prepared ropes. The kid, who had tired himself out with all of his struggling, sat there in a mute, shocked silence. His face was red and blotched from all of his crying and screaming. The boy looked from the man to the woman – his parents – and began to mumble and cry their names with his remaining strength.

This mission was meant to send a message to others who had affiliated with this man. Those who had attempted to plot in the darkness and overthrow the current leading council of HYDRA. To try and make a name for themselves and become even more unassailably wealthy than they already were.

This was their one and only warning.

This was the punishment that awaited them all if they didn’t crawl back into line where they belonged.

This was an execution.

The chairs were arranged in an equidistant triangle, the furniture of the living room cleared away to form a big empty space on the hardwood flooring. With the first stage completed, the Soldier retreated, slinking back into a shadowed corner of the room to wait for the man to regain consciousness. To soak in the reality of the situation. To see the state of his bludgeoned wife and his crying son. The moment of realization when he knew that his life was forfeit.

Half an hour later that time came. The man woke, groggy and disoriented, and began struggle once he had gained enough coherency. He gagged under the rope’s strangulation before relaxing and regaining his breath. He began to call out to his wife, urging her to wake up, as well as soothing his son at the same time with the same meaningless and worthless phrases repeated over and over again.

_Stay calm._

_Everything is going to be okay._

_There’s nothing to worry about._

_Papa’s going to make this go away._

But it didn’t go away. The Soldier exited from the shadowed corner, making his heavy boot-steps audible specifically for the purpose of psychological torture.

He’d started on the wife first.

His orders had been clear: Make them suffer. Make them beg for mercy. Make it blatantly clear what will happen to those thinking of treason and what will also happen to those that they care about.

The rope was slowly pulled taunt around the woman’s neck by one of his hands, cutting of her supply of air bit by bit. Her arms and legs strained against their ropes ineffectually and her back bowed out as she tried to make the rope go slack so she could gasp for breath. The man began his own struggles, yelling and cursing at the monster that was slowly but surely killing his wife, while the little boy just began to wail and scream.

The Soldier let the rope loosen, allowed the woman to regain her breath for brief moment, before he pulled it taunt and got her choking and gasping once more. Her head tilted back so that her bulging and tear-filled eyes stared sightlessly up towards the ceiling. His flesh hand held the rope securely while the metal one reached down and pulled one of his knives out from the holster on his thigh. The blade’s edge and the silver of his exposed arm flashed ominously in the moonlight and the husband flailed in his chair. He knew what came next. But there was nothing the struggling man could do but sit and watch as the Winter Soldier began to fillet his wife open like a fish.

Bucky tried to block it out – the sights, the smells and the sounds – and wake himself up. Tried to stop the memory in its tracks before it went any further. He didn’t want to see this. He didn’t want to feel the warmth of fresh blood spilling out onto his skin. The sensation of fragile bone being crushed beneath his unnatural strength. Hear their cries and screams and the constant drip of more and more blood pooling on the floor beneath the woman’s chair.

_Wake up_ , he whispered brokenly.

_Wake up!_ He yelled out into the uncaring darkness.

_WAKE UP!_ He shrieked until even in his mind his voice gave out.

The first slice on the skin of the woman’s neck was shallow, barely enough to draw blood, but he kept cutting deeper and deeper before stopping just on the point of damaging her to a fatal degree. By now the woman was nearly insensate from the pain and the telltale stench of urine had polluted the air. But the Soldier didn’t care. He just kept cutting and slicing to accomplish his mission.

His knife scored her arms, carved up her chest, incised into her abdomen and gouged up her thighs with a surgical amount of precision. Enough to bleed and cause pain, but not quite enough to kill. Though, the woman had long since fallen unconscious under his brutal treatment. And eventually, when the man had shouted himself hoarse from pleas and curses and threats, the Asset sliced that final time through the woman’s neck. Her trachea opened wide and both the carotids and jugulars severed in one final cut.

Both man and child screamed and the floor was slickened with a growing pool of blood.

With bloodied knife in hand, the Soldier moved towards the boy’s chair and began again.

Bucky, gone mute and frozen within the confines of his dreamscape, watched in traumatized horror as he tortured an innocent child for the perceived sins of his father. The Asset sliced skin, broke bones and even sawed off tiny, twitching fingers. The boy cried, shrieked and voided his bowels before passing out just as his mother had. In the slightest moment of mercy – perhaps just the tiniest fragment of Bucky’s human soul peeking through the black – the Soldier cut the boy’s throat open not too long after.

Only the husband was left and it was his death was arguably the slowest and most painful. The man was beaten and then strangled. Cut all over by the very same knife that was still dripping with the blood of his wife and son, before having his gut sliced open wide – the abdominal wall completely destroyed and thick coils of grayish-purple intestines spilling out onto his lap – and left to die on his own without the quick mercy of a clean slice across an artery.

**Миссия выполнена.**

Mission completed.

The Asset was quick to retrieve what he needed from the home, some valuable intelligence the traitor had stored in a safe, before he walked back out into the night. A retrieval team was waiting at the end of the home’s driveway in a truck and they drove off into the dark with a blank faced and blood splattered Winter Soldier sitting in the backseat.

Blue-gray eyes flickered up towards the rear-view mirror and Bucky saw his reflection and screamed.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**0211 HOURS | DECEMBER 04, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

He woke with a sound that might’ve been a shout if it hadn’t gotten stuck in his throat before escaping.

A coughing fit took over and he stumbled up and out of the rumpled and twisted sheets of his bed, all of his usual preternatural grace leaving him tripping and dropping down painfully onto his knees. He fought for a clear breath between the deep, hacking coughs that the aborted shout had caused and knew that he needed to get to the bathroom as soon as possible.

He stood on unstable legs and careened wildly towards the bathroom with no thoughts other than get there and quickly. His normal hand coming up to slap over his mouth that had just begun to pool rapidly with saliva, while his metal one came up to prevent him from caving his skull in on the bathroom’s door frame. The wall dented under the force with which he ran into it, but Bucky was far from caring. He didn’t even pause to turn on the lights in the bathroom. His vision was decent enough in the dark that he could see clearly enough to know where he needed to go.

He reached the toilet in time to drop down onto his knees and upend the contents of his stomach. Eyes squeezed closed and tears streaming from the corners, hunched over the porcelain bowl while coughing and gagging until it seemed as though there was nothing left to vomit. The awful taste of stomach acid, bile and partially digested food lingered in his mouth as he slumped back against the wall, panting from the exertion, and fumbled around blindly to flush the toilet.

That’s when all of the other sensations and phantom feelings caught up with him.

Skin damp with sweat to an uncomfortable degree. The uncontrollable shaking in all of his limbs, even the metal one, which whined and hissed in its attempts to obey the commands that his haywire nerves were trying to tell it. Pounding pain at his temples and the thunderous noise of his own heart beating at far too fast a pace. The almost as equally nauseating storm of negative emotions that he was feeling at that moment: panic, fear, guilt, grief, horror, disgust…

Blood. The blood. It had been on him. Everywhere. It was on him. He could feel it. The heavy stickiness that started off warm and turned cold so quickly. Drying and then flaking away. But no, it was there. It had to be. He had spilt so much.

The wife. The husband… The kid.

It was on his hands, his arm, his chest, his neck, his legs, his face…

He had to get it off.

Get it off.

GET IT OFF!

Bucky surged up to his feet, tearing at his clothes – the usual long-sleeve shirt and pair of flannel pajama pants – and floundered his way across the bathroom towards the enormous glass-walled shower stall. With his shirt torn off and beyond repair and after managing to step out his pants without cracking his skull open, he grabbed roughly at the controls and turn it all the way up to the hottest setting before stepping in without even bothering to remove his boxer shorts.

He began to scrub violently. His mind too muddled and incoherent to think of reaching for soap, he just began to scratch and rub at his exposed skin. Even as his eyes saw that his skin was clean, his mind saw nothing but that ever-present crimson that followed him everywhere. He’d never be free of it.

The blood of all of those he’d killed for HYDRA.

The blood that had spurted out when he’d sliced that poor, innocent boy’s throat wide open.

He scrubbed and scratched and dug at his skin with his hands until the water actually began to run red with his own blood. Furrows dug into his flesh by the sharp edges of the nails on his right hand.

And then suddenly he was just so, so tired.

Utterly exhausted with absolutely everything.

The tormented brown-haired man sunk down onto the floor of the shower, no longer capable of feeling the near-to-boiling water cascading over and around him, staring blankly down at his knees.

* * *

“Captain Lastimosa, please wake up. Sergeant Barnes is in need of your assistance immediately.”

Rhiannon moaned into her pillow, far from pleased about being woken up, but blearily opened her eyes at the rather loud interruption of her sleep schedule by Stark’s AI. The mention of James was enough to get her moving, however.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, covering her mouth as a yawn escaped her, pulling herself upright from the messy nest of blanket and pillows that she had created on her bed.

“He woke from what I believe to have been a nightmare,” J.A.R.V.I.S. explained. “Shortly thereafter, he rushed to the bathroom to vomit before proceeding to enter the shower partially clothed. He is currently beginning to cause himself harm from the violence with which he is scratching at his skin.”

The blonde woman was moving before the AI had even finished his report, wide awake and charging out of her rooms and careening down the hall to the door to Barnes’ own apartment. Heedless of the fact that she was in her pajamas as well. Nothing more than a pair of loose shorts and a baggy t-shirt that had once belonged to her father. No socks on her feet and no bra beneath her shirt.

None of that mattered.

He needed her.

J.A.R.V.I.S. unlocked the door for her, as per their agreement about dealing with the metal-armed man’s possible relapses. The bedroom door was wide open with one of the bed sheets trailing partially out into the main room, but she went straight for the bathroom where she could hear the shower running.

She entered slowly, concerned and wary for what she might find, and her heart broke to see the state that Barnes had fallen into. Huddled on his knees on the floor of the shower while dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, bent nearly in half over his legs and his face entirely shrouded by the soaked mop of his shoulder-length hair. The whole room was fogging up with steam from the heat of the water and he made no movements to make it seem as though he knew she was there at all. But what worried her the most – even more than his apparent lack of awareness – was the rapid rise and fall of his back and shoulders with every breath.

It was far too fast to be healthy. Nearly to hyperventilation stage.

The plate-glass door was only partially closed behind him and the tile floor outside had turned slippery from the spray that had managed to splash out. Rhia moved forward slowly, both for her own safety against falling on the water-slicked floor and to not take Barnes by surprise. It had happened before – though, thankfully such an occasion had been a rare occurrence – when she had approached too quickly and too quietly after he’d suffered from an episode.

She’d gotten a metal fist swung at her face for her troubles and nearly got her lights knocked out.

“Barnes,” she called out softly, just loud enough to be heard above the cascade as she slid the door open and began to reach out to turn the water off. “James, can you hear me? It’s Rhiannon. Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?”

His body jerked at the sound of her voice, but his head came up and their eyes met. He had been crying if the redness and puffiness around his eyes was any accurate indication and his mouth was partially open with every ragged, gasping inhale of air and shuddering exhale.

She managed to turn the water off and in that sudden moment of clarity noticed that beyond the accelerated rate of his breathing he was also shaking violently, his arms wrapped around his torso in a tight embrace. Like he was trying to hold himself together.

“Rhia…” he mumbled in recognition as she climbed into the shower stall to crouch in front of him, reaching out slowly but ready to pull back if he began to react poorly to her gradual invasion of his personal space. But he didn’t. In fact, he leant ever so slightly forward and into her extending arms, unfolding from his hunched position to grab at her left hand with both of his own. Trapping it in an almost painfully tight grip between skin and metal, but she knew he needed to ground himself with sensations of the present. A tangible escape from the lingering phantoms of the past.

“Oh, honey,” she cooed soothingly, her free hand cupping at his stubbled cheek before moving upwards to run through his tangled mess of hair, blatantly ignoring every logical instinct that said she shouldn’t have been doing this. It was shit like this that had gotten her into this mess in the first place. “You had a rough night, huh?” she asked and he nodded, his head canting down to look back at his knees.

For several minutes she just alternated between a variety of things that had proven themselves effective before. Running her fingers gently through his hair. Rubbing at the skin of his left shoulder just before the start of the nasty scarring that had been created from the attached of his prosthetic. And repeating soothing phrases again and again in an attempt to bring him down from his state of panicked hysteria and slow his breathing slowed to a more reasonable pace.

Eventually, he had calmed himself enough to try and speak.

To explain himself.

“It... I…” he began, but she cut him off before he ruined his progress by bringing up all of the bad before he was ready to do so. She wanted him calmer before he rehashed everything that had caused this.

“Shh,” she hushed. “First things first. Let’s get you out of here, dried off and warmed up. Then, if you feel ready, you can talk to me about what happened. Okay?”

He nodded his head slowly in agreement with her suggestion, seeming to have been relieved to not have to speak about his most recent nightmare right then and there. Because Rhia was right…. He wasn’t ready.

If he spoke now it wouldn’t go well.

For all of his enhanced super-soldier physique, trauma-induced weakness seemed to affect him just as strongly as it would have a normal human. Rhiannon had to use quite a bit of her own strength to get him up from the floor and out into the rest of the bathroom without having the both of them slipping. And through it all he refused to let go of her, his right hand tightly holding her left. And so, Rhia was forced to try and accomplish all of these tasks one-handed.

She reached for a full-sized towel and wrapped it around his shoulders before grabbing a small hand towel and throwing it over his head to dry his hair. He stood listlessly as she toweled his hair into a semi-dry state. Or at least dry enough to not be dripping water everywhere. She tossed the damp cloth away and into the laundry hamper, before beginning to rub the larger towel across the rest of his soaked body. Rhia made sure to gentle her touch around the red lines he had carved into his chest and thighs. There was no need to cause him more pain than that which he already caused himself. Though, with his enhanced rate of healing in play, the wounds had already stopped actively bleeding and would probably be gone in a couple of hours.

With Barnes as dry as she could make him with only one hand, she walked him out and back into his bedroom, absentmindedly taking in the mess he had made upon waking.

She nudged him gently towards his closet. “Why don’t you go and put some dry clothes on while I pick things up in here.”

He still had yet to let go of her hand and at her suggestion his grip tightened even further.

“Go on, sweetheart. I’ll be right here,” she said, leading him towards the closet door and deciding that she wasn’t going to fix the bed or anything. She’d stand right here while he changed if he needed her to. If it made him feel safe and secure. “Just focus on the clothes. Don’t think about anything else. You can do it.”

He finally went in, dropping her hand and rummaging quickly through the drawers built into the closet’s walls for another pair of boxers, pants and a shirt. She leant on the doorframe, averting her eyes for the sake of his privacy, but keeping that left hand of hers hanging in the air for him to grab once again when he was done. Less than a minute later, they were settling down on the carpeted floor of the bedroom, because Barnes had refused to get back into the bed.

So instead, with a nest of blankets and pillows formed around them at Rhia’s insistence for the sake of comfort and warmth, the pair leant back as they sat shoulder to shoulder against the foot of the bed. The man at her side, despite having calmed significantly from the wreck he had been curled up in the shower, was still far from recovered.

Light tremors still ran down his limbs from an illusory chill and he was unable to lie still with his fingers and toes twitching with the desire for movement and his arms and legs shifting ever once in a while. Shoulders were hunched up towards his ears, his head turned down towards his quilt-covered legs and his breath still hitching slightly every other inhale or so. She even heard a nasally sniffle from time to time. His right hand was in her left again as well, as it had been ever since he had finished changing, and her thumb had begun to swirl in a meaningless pattern against the skin on the back of his hand.

“So, what was this one about?” she asked quietly in the dark of the bedroom, leaning against him to remind him that she was physically there. “Do you want to talk about it or do you want me to get your journal so you can write about it?”

With his disinclination towards lots of talking, sometimes it was easier for Rhia to offer him the journal. The act of writing came easier to him than speaking did more often than not.

Barnes stayed quiet and his breathing got a little more ragged and forceful with her question, though he also began to lean even more of his substantial body weight into her side. Even the grip he had on her hand tightened as a reaction and she squeezed back supportively. She’d wait for as long as it took for him to recover enough to speak or come to another decision. But she wasn’t going to let him suffer alone and without an outlet being offered. But Rhia was beginning to see that this had been a really bad one. Another new memory that his mind had chosen to force upon him in his sleep and most likely made all the worse by the creativity of his own subconsciousness. The others hadn’t been great, but this is the worst she’d seen him in weeks. Perhaps even months.

This was more like how he had been back in September.

An idea – maybe a good one or maybe really bad – came to mind as they sat in silence.

“Honey, do you want me to get Steve for you?” she asked tentatively. “Would that make you feel a bit better? You know he cares about you and he wants to be here for you.” Rhia gently placed the palm of her right hand on his bristled cheek and turned his head towards her, leaning down so that she could look up into his blue-gray eyes. They were still faintly reddened around the edges from crying and wet with those tears he had yet to shed. “And I think that you need to start sharing this with him too.”

Whatever wall it was that had been holding him together for the moment broke at the mention of Steve and Rhiannon worried that she had made a terrible mistake. His legs came up and his head went down until he had buried his eyes against his knees and had all but curled back into the safety of a ball. He sniffled and wheezed and she could suddenly smell the distinct scent of salt on the air.

He was crying.

It hurt her to see such a strong man, who had endured so much, be brought so low. But grief was better than rage and definitely better than him choosing to shut everything and everyone out. To become the emotionless shell that he had once been before.

And yet, Barnes had yet to let go of her hand, pulling it along with the rest of her arm in tight against his blanket-covered leg. Rhia moved up onto her knees, shuffling closer and wrapping herself around him. She couldn’t think of what else to do but offer whatever sort of comfort she could until he felt ready to speak.

But for the most part she was at a loss.

This was what was going to kill her when she left. The soul-deep knowledge that he needed her for moments just like this because he had no one else. It was the whole reason that she had prompted the idea of inviting Steve. So that Barnes could have someone else. Could come to realize that he wasn’t alone, he never had been, and that he didn’t have to rely on her. Because soon enough, he wouldn’t be able to anymore.

She squeezed him tighter as her own mood plummeted from her self-inflicted depressing thoughts.

Barnes mumbled in her grasp, letting a word slip out between his sobs and wheezing breaths, but she couldn’t hear it clearly.

“What did you say, sweetie?”

His head came up ever so slightly, just enough so that she could see his eyes and the bridge of his nose resting between his knees.

“Steve,” he whispered wetly, still almost too quietly for her to properly hear. “Get Steve… Please… Need him... Need you both... Please.”

“Okay. I’ll get him, honey. You just hold on tight. I’m here for you and he’ll be here soon,” she said, canting her head up towards the ceiling where she knew there was at least one audio recording device that was monitored by Stark’s AI. “Get him. Now.”

* * *

He hadn’t been asleep.

No, Steve had felt restless that night. Unable to settle no matter how long he lay in bed and tried all of the methods he had always used to lull himself to sleep. Didn’t help that he still found mattresses too soft and more often than not crashed on his own couch or even the floor on occasion.

Counting sheep? Nope.

Soft, background music? Nothing.

And after two hours of staring blankly up at his own ceiling, Steve had decided to just get up and do something to while away the time until morning or whenever he naturally fell asleep. He’d watched television for a little bit, but got bored. He briefly thought about watching some of the movies from his list, but ultimately decided not to. Tried to psyche himself up to read a book that he’d been meaning to, but then he had laid eyes on one of his multitude of sketchbooks that he’d brought with him from the Tower in New York.

He could draw. That would be a good usage of his time that wasn’t Avengers-related. Steve really tried to not do business paperwork when he was technically off-the-clock. Though, he doubted that being an international superhero meant that he was ever really not working.

So, with a pencil in hand, he slumped down onto his couch with one leg bent up to use as a stable surface, and got to sketching whatever came to mind.

He started with a landscape, something mindless to warm his hand up to the familiar strokes that he had learned all those years ago during his art school classes. The familiar lakeshore and forested line of evergreens that surrounded the Compound began to form on the page, but the image was left mostly unfinished as another idea came to mind. He flipped to a new page and began to draw something else.

Dark lines that changed their shape ever inch that they spread across the page. One section swirling like waves crashing onto a shoreline, while the next resembled an overlapping braid and the one after that looked like the diamond shaped scales of some sort of reptile. Vines began to worm their way through the patterned designs and in the swirling center of the page a gladiolus flower began to bloom.

A far from perfect recollection of Lastimosa’s tattoos put onto a page.

But a fairly good likeness without having the primary source sitting in front of him.

“Captain Rogers. Pardon the interruption, but you are needed in Sergeant Barnes’ apartment with all due haste,” the polite English accented voice of J.A.R.V.I.S. announced in the quiet of the room.

“What’s going on?” he asked, setting his sketchbook and pencil down on the coffee table as he sat up.

“The Sergeant has suffered from a nightmare and has been displaying fairly severe symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder in response. Captain Lastimosa has managed to get the situation mostly under control on her own, but Barnes has just now asked for your presence as well.”

Steve’s heart leapt at the mention that Buck had asked for him, but sank with the realization that the love of his life was right now suffering and in pain. Whether it was physical or emotional, the source of his pain didn’t matter, and the blonde was on his feet and exiting his room without a single thought otherwise. It didn’t matter that he was barefoot and only in his sleeping clothes – a pair of rather ratty sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Bucky needed him and Steve would answer the call without hesitation.

Just as he always had.

The door was unlocked when he got to Bucky’s apartment – no doubt that was because of J.A.R.V.I.S. – but for a second Steve found himself stuck outside. Nervousness and anxiety took him unexpectedly. He had to ask himself it he really ready for this. To see even a fraction of the damage that the love of his life had sustained during his years as HYDRA’s slave?

His stubborn, bullheadedness and all of his still thriving love for James Barnes quickly beat those insecurities down. Bucky didn’t deserve to have him waffling around trying to sort out his own emotions. This was a time for action and Steve had always been known for jumping headfirst into situations that probably had required a bit more thought and planning beforehand.

He followed his ears towards the only sources of noise in the apartment: the soothing murmurs of a quiet woman’s voice and the shuddering breaths of another. Steve stuck his head into the bedroom and bore witness to the huddle of two humans on the carpeted floor. Bucky was curled up with his arms wrapped around his bent legs and his face all but hidden from view in a heavy quilt draped over his knees. Lastimosa was knelt beside him, holding onto one of Buck’s hands, even as she turned her head to look over at him in the doorway.

“Hey, Steve,” she whispered tiredly, running a hand through the tangled mess of her hair before waving him closer with that same hand. She turned back towards the bent head of Bucky, leaning in to murmur, “Steve’s here, sweetie. Do you want him to come and sit with us?”

The head of messy, tangled dark brown hair lifted and the blue-gray eyes that Steve had known since he was ten years old looked up at him out of the half-darkness of the bedroom. It hurt to see Bucky in tears, which had never been a particularly common occurrence in their younger years. But now… with the all of those wounds and scars – both physical and emotional – it was unsurprising that it had pushed him to this level. And all of that pain had been brought back to the forefront of his mind by whatever it was that Bucky’s nightmare had been about.

A hand emerged from the nest of blankets – the metal one, but Steve didn’t care – and reached out to him pleadingly, the fingers splayed out and twitching restlessly. The blonde super-soldier knelt down on the other side of his once-lover, taking Bucky’s hand in his own and nestling in just as tightly as Lastimosa was on his right. It was clear to him that physically being there seemed to be a tried and true source of comfort, but for the most part Steve was going to have to follow Rhiannon’s lead in this. She had far greater experience in dealing with Buck when he was like this.

“So, what happened?” he asked softly, wondering what would come next.

Lastimosa looked at Buck. “Do you think you’re up to talking about it yet?” she asked him. “You know that neither of us will judge you for what they’ve made you do, but you can’t keep these things that bother you like this – that reduce you to this state – to yourself.”

“We’re here for you, Buck. Promise,” Steve added. “Nothing you can say will change that. Ever.”

The grip of Bucky’s metal hand on his own tightened ever so slightly as the brown-haired man drew in a particularly deep and shuddering inhale before being released in a wet and disjointed exhale.

“I… I k-killed a kid,” he admitted in mumbled voice almost too quiet to hear, his eyes never wavering from his blanket-covered knees. But it seemed as though that single statement broke the dam that was holding back the rest of Bucky’s words as they began to just pour out of his mouth. “No. I didn’t kill him. I slaughtered him. Tortured him. Butchered him like an animal. Did the same to his ma. To his pa. Just because they said so and I didn’t give a damn. I can’t… I can’t do that anymore. I won’t. You should hate me. You both should hate me. I hate me. I’m a monster and I killed him. Just a kid. Just a little boy.”

There were no words that Steve could think of that could make this better and if it were even possible his hatred of HYDRA, which was already at what he thought to be at its highest level, grew even larger. How could they even… Steve almost wished that Bucky hadn’t remember this. That his mind had stayed just damaged enough that he’d never have to remember all of the horrible things that HYDRA had made him do as the Winter Soldier.

It would’ve been easier.

Rhiannon pressed in closer to Bucky, wrapping him up in her arms as much as she could while still having her hand held in one of his own and making soothing noises as the broken man between them was reduced back into tears. His eyes shut tight, his nose running and those body-wracking sobs escaping from his mouth. Steve mimicked her actions, bringing his arms up and around Buck as well in tight embrace. As he did so, the skin of his arms touched and rubbed against Lastimosa’s, their arms overlapping around Bucky’s broadened shoulders and torso.

“You can’t blame yourself for what they made you do, Buck,” Steve said, hoping to break through to his former lover. Every cry from the dark-haired man’s mouth just made his heart hurt. Like someone was stabbing him right between the ribs and the knife point was just barely grazing that dense muscle in the center of his chest. “Just like you can’t blame a gun for killing someone. It’s the person that pulled the trigger that’s to blame,” he reasoned. “They used you. You didn’t kill that kid. HYDRA did.”

“Steve’s right,” Rhiannon murmured, her head almost resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “I know it hurts and you’ll have to carry it with you every day, but you cannot hold yourself to blame for something you were forced to do. And we could never hate you. You’re not a monster and you never have been. The fact that you’re this upset by your memories proves that fact,” she soothed. “A monster wouldn’t care.”

The sobs began to ease as Bucky sniffled once, shifting slightly in their embrace as Steve wondered if maybe he should pull away and give Buck some more space. But the dark-haired man just began to stretch his legs out and lean slightly back against the foot of the bed behind him and pulled in a heavy inhale of air. Lastimosa shifted to get more comfortable, but refused to let go of the man in her arms, reaching up with her right arm and idly wiping away one of the tear tracks on the stubbled cheek closest to her with the edge of the quilt.

“Do you want to tell us anything else?” she asked softly, but he shook his head.

“How’re you feelin’, Buck? Any better?” Steve asked.

“I feel like shit, Steve. And I’m fuckin’ tired,” the brunet admitted sourly, his voice rough and strained from all of the crying. Bucky coughed and sniffled a couple of times, trying to clear his nose and throat from the junk that had accumulated there during his emotional breakdown. “I’m sick of the nightmares. I’m scared to fall asleep half the time. Afraid of what my broken mind’s going to cook up this time. A new memory? An old one with an even more sick and twisted turn of events? As if the truth wasn’t already bad enough…”

“You’re not the only one who gets them, Barnes,” Rhiannon chided lightly. “I still get pretty damn awful nightmares. Remember? I tried to kill you once when you woke me up out of one.” Her eyes, seeming greener in the pseudo-darkness, flickered up towards Steve’s as they make eye contact around Bucky’s body. “And I’d imagine that Steve gets them just as much as we do. Part of the job that’s hard to avoid.”

“Of course, Buck. No one can go through what we have and come out unscathed,” he said in agreement. “But what matters is having someone to talk to about them. To get help when you need it. Just like what we’re doing for you right now.”

Bucky didn’t seem to have anything to say after that and for several minutes they sat in silence, still wrapped up in a three-way embrace that seemed to have no end in sight. And while it was not a particularly peaceful sort of silence, given the circumstances, the physical sensation of comfort was quite pleasant. Mostly likely for all of them. It had been so long since Steve had properly held Bucky in his arms. Decades, actually, since he had been able to touch him without the need for violence. And it seemed as though the physical and mental exhaustion left in the wake of Bucky’s surge of intense emotions was a very real thing as a gaping yawn escaped from his mouth accidentally.

Lastimosa seemed to know where things were headed. Most likely something similar had happened before. “You wanna scoot forward and lay down? You’re going to fall asleep sitting up and you’ll feel even more terrible in the morning if you do that.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” Bucky mumbled with a shake of his head, seeming almost child-like in his refusal.

“C’mon, Buck,” Steve said. “You’re dead on your feet already. Emotions are tiring and we both know that. Just let us get you comfortable before you end up passing out on us.”

“What if I see it again?” he asked with palpable fear in his voice.

“You might. You might not,” Lastimosa said truthfully. “But depriving yourself of sleep isn’t going help you any in the long run. You need it to function just like anyone else, honey. And we’ll be right here if you need us.”

With the blonde woman’s assurances, the brunet gave in, despite his protests, and with a bit of careful maneuvering Rhiannon and Steve rearranged their nest of pillows and blankets to a more suitable section of the carpeted floor. A space with plenty of room for several people to lay down and not have to worry about bumping into any of the furniture in their sleep. With his legs straightened out, but with their hands still in his firm grasp, Bucky splayed out and the blonde woman was quick to tuck a pillow under his head and pull the blanket up and over him. And soon enough, just as they had anticipated, the metal-armed man was fast asleep as the exhaustion hit fast and hard.

It was a good thing; both for his health and because Steve wanted desperately to talk to Rhiannon.

“So, what happened before I got here?” he asked, taking care to keep his voice as quiet as he could to avoid waking Bucky up. Steve couldn’t know if he still had the same sleeping habits from back in the war. The Bucky from before could sleep through just about anything, though during the war he had begun to wake up to very specific and particular sounds: The click of a gun’s safety being turned off. The cling of a pin being pulled from a grenade. The whistle and whine of bombs being dropped from miles away.

But now?

Steve just didn’t know and couldn’t be sure that anything he once knew still applied.

“Found him on the floor in the shower,” the woman began just as quietly, looking up from Bucky’s face to meet his eyes from where she sat. She looked worn out. Just as tired as Bucky had seemed to be and overwhelmingly stressed by the pinch of her eyes and the furrow of her eyebrows. “Borderline non-responsive. Not unconscious, but just shutting down mentally.” A grimace pulled her lips downward as she continued speaking after sucking in a shaky breath. “Scratched himself up good where he could get to with his right hand. Minor injuries that’ll be healed by morning, but still something that we might need to be concerned about. Causing self-harm, even unintentionally, can be really serious if left unchecked. But I’d imagine that things got pretty messy in his dream. Probably still thought he was covered in the blood of those people from the way the scratches looked.”

“Has something like this happened before?”

“Twice,” she admitted sadly and wearily. “But neither of those were as bad as this one was.”

Steve was silent for a moment.

“Thank you,” he eventually said. “. I can’t imagine what might’ve happened if he had been on his own and gone through something like this. I don’t even want to consider it. I’m so glad and grateful that he had you with him.”

A sad sort of smile curled on her lips as she looked down at Buck. Steve recognized the look in her eyes. He’d seen it time and time again in his own reflection. A familiar sort of softness. She loved him. Was in love with him. The realization hurt, but only a little bit. More than anything Steve was honestly glad to know that she felt so deeply and honestly for the man that he also loved. Bucky’s deserved to have people’s love, now more than ever before. To keep him strong and moving forward, regardless of the adversity he was facing now and was sure to continue to have to confront again and again in the future.

“And now he’ll have you,” she said. “Once I’m gone… You’ll be all he has, Steve. So, you’ve gotta take care of him. Even when he doesn’t want you to.”

Steve found that he didn’t much care for the resignation in her voice at the mention of her eventual departure. There were still no true guarantees that Stark and Banner would be able to figure out how the piece of alien technology from Rhiannon’s reality functioned. It was a selfish and frankly surprising hope, but he almost began to wish that the two intellectuals wouldn’t succeed in their experiments.

The possibility of an alternate choice made him begin to wonder…

_But what if he had both of us?_

Steve didn’t know how that would work, but for Bucky he’d do anything. Be willing to try anything.

_What if you chose to stay?_

It seemed unlikely given Rhiannon’s determination to return home, but what if he could somehow manage to make her change her mind?

_What if I asked you to stay?_

He would. Without a doubt. He’d wait a few days – to think it over more thoroughly – but it was something that Steve was beginning to think he might have to do.

_For him._

_For Bucky._

The sound of Lastimosa’s voice broke him out his thoughts. “Now, since I don’t think he’s going to let go anytime soon,” she said. “I guess we’re both bunking right here for the night.”

“What?” he asked in his brief moment of confusion as he emerged from his ruminations.

“He’s still got our hands, Steve,” Rhiannon said pointedly, with an obvious glance down at where Bucky still had a firm grip on both of their hands. “And I doubt you’re willing to go back to your room after seeing this tonight. I know I’m not,” she admitted softly. “Not when he could just as easily wake up and have another relapse and need us to be here for him.”

“But…” Steve began to protest, feeling a faint amount of warmth on the back of his neck.

All three of them sleeping in the same room. The same place? It was… He didn’t know. It didn’t seem right, but at the same time it was such a tempting proposition. And, given Bucky’s current state of mind, it was probably a smart decision. With the added bonus that he’d get to sleep next to the love of his life once again. Sandwiching the dark-haired man’s body between their own.

Rhiannon yawned, muffling it behind the palm of her free hand, as she too began to adjust herself to lay down on the far side of Bucky’s body. Tugging a pillow that had been underneath her for her head and rearranging the blankets so that she would have enough to cover herself with her one free hand. “Just go to sleep, Steve. A couple hours of sleep won’t kill you and we need to stay here for the night. It’ll be just like being out on a long mission and having to camp out under the stars.”

He remained quiet as she settled down on her back and with his enhanced hearing, listening to the rhythm of their hearts, knew when she finally fell asleep several minutes later. He was the last one left awake. Just sitting there and thinking, all the while his fingers traced idly over the metal hand in his own. He wondered if Bucky could feel any of it. How did the arm work? He was sure that Stark could probably find out in a heartbeat if Bucky’s was willing to allow the genius to look at it and most likely Rhiannon had some inkling as well given all of the time that she’d spent living with him.

But…

What to do? What to do? What to do?

There were so many questions to ask. So many that he wanted answered so he could come up with some sort of plan of attack. How was he going to help Bucky? How was he going to try and convince Lastimosa to stay on Earth? To stay in their reality and in doing so give up anything and everything she had left in the old one? Her mother was gone. Her father was gone. She’d spoken of no other close family members… To him, at least. She’d mentioned friends, he supposed. Those she fought with in the Militia: SRS and some good-guy mercenaries.

Were those enough to make her want to go back? Or was it something else?

Duty? Obligation? Loyalty?

Steve didn’t know.

Resigned to the fact that he definitely wasn’t going to be answering any of those questions tonight, he followed Lastimosa’s example. He still wasn’t particular tired – though, the rampant emotions of the recent past had worn him down– but he ought to try and get some sleep in any case. He lay down, sliding close enough on his back so that he was pressed up against Bucky’s side, just like he always had, and managed to pull a bit of the heavy quilt over him and snag a corner of a pillow for his own head.

He just wanted to be closer to Buck in any way that he could be. To feel his body heat. To hear him breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. To know that he was there and alive.

And then suddenly it was morning. The faintest ray of golden sunlight sneaking through a crack in the window’s heavy curtains and Steve had apparently managed to fall asleep, but couldn’t remember when. He decided that it didn’t matter as he nestled ever so slightly closer to the large and warm body in his arms, the heavy quilt resting just over his waist.

He was laying on his right side, one extended arm tucked beneath a tangled head of hair and beginning to go numb from blood loss, while the other was stretched out and resting palm-flat against something warm and smooth. With his eyes still closed, but with his mind beginning to catch up and start thinking, his left hand tensed and his thumb ran lightly down the skin – because it had to be skin – underneath it. A dense pack of muscles twitched under the feather-light touch and Steve furrowed his brow and frowned lightly in confusion.

Something didn’t make sense.

Things weren’t adding up.

He opened his eyes, blinking until the blurry image of the back of Bucky’s head regained clarity as his vision had returned to its normal level. It was a massive improvement on his pre-serum eyesight which had been truly awful. He lifted his head, just enough to see over the broad expanse of Buck’s shoulder, to see what lay beyond.

It was Lastimosa.

And his hand was resting on her stomach.

That toned expanse of bronzed skin had been exposed as her shirt had ridden up during the night, only made all the worse as Bucky’s metal arm was wrapped just under her breasts. That same arm that was managing to press them upwards at the same time, making them seem larger and almost visible through the gaping collar of her shirt that was several sizes too large. Steve averted his eyes after he realized that he’d been staring at Rhiannon’s tits with a dumb sort of smile on his face, glancing up towards the ceiling, but still seeing afterimages.

They were all laying together. Pressed up against each other – back to front – with their arms wrapped around each other and their legs and bare feet touching and tangled underneath the quilt.

And Steve found that he liked it.

He liked it a lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big emotional OOF. So sorry, folks. This one was a bit dark and traumatic, but not everything can be sunshine, rainbows and kittens. Especially not when you've got the Winter Soldier to consider. But I hope that ending scene made all of the bad a bit more tolerable. Much love once again to everyone who had subscribed, bookmarked, left kudos and commented. It means the world to me. Stay safe, everyone.


	19. Chapter 19

**1513 HOURS | DECEMBER 12, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

_“On your left.”_

Those three words were what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. That smug and sweaty blur of gray and gold that sped past him around the National Mall at unnatural speeds.

It had been far from Sam Wilson’s mind on that day that he might become a friend of Captain America’s. He certainly hadn’t thought that such a brief, but friendly, interaction between two military veterans would have led to the super-soldier and the Black Widow turning up in his backyard while the whole of the city and world went to Hell. The pair asking for help and sanctuary that he had so willingly offered. Even volunteering himself and wearing the wings once again.

A thing he hadn’t done since Riley had been blown out of the sky on their last mission.

And yet, now he found himself in the regular company of superheroes and was counted amongst their number. He was the Falcon now. Though, his addition to the Avengers had yet to be publicly announced. Steve had told him that Tony Stark suggested that it would be better if they made his debut after the New Year and Sam wasn’t going to argue. He was still nervous as fuck about all of these big changes.

He wasn’t a superhero.

He wasn’t even a regular hero.

A real hero would’ve been able to save his wingman from an RPG.

God, what would Riley think if he could see Sam now?

He’d probably laugh his ass off and then try to get a date with Romanoff.

And yet, all of these marvelous people, these extraordinary beings, had welcomed him into their midst without a single ounce of protest. His display of skill during the events in Washington and his service record from his tours with the USAF were apparently more than enough to make him qualified for a life of superhero-ness. It was an adjustment that Sam was pretty sure that he’d never get used to. He wasn’t anything special and that was never put into greater perspective when he found himself in the depths of the Compound’s exercise facilities for a workout with other members of the Team.

Just like he was now.

How he felt lacking compared to their inestimable plethora of talents and training.

Clint Barton. Hawkeye. The master archer lining up trick shots with unerring aim, be it with throwing knives or that fancy-shmancy bow of his. It was like the man was physically incapable of missing. Even with his eyes closed and in the oddest of positions and perches!

Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. A lethally skilled woman, spy and assassin. A woman who was currently beating the ever-loving shit out a heavy bag with an intensity that made him almost feel sorry for the inanimate object.

Thor. An alien who for centuries had been thought of by the mortals of Earth to be an actual god. An all-powerful deity of the Norse Pantheon and damn if the man didn’t live up to those expectations. Physical abilities that surpassed even Steve’s with the addition of that physic-defying hammer and the lightning powers on top of it all. The alien that was currently deadlifting what had to be well over half a ton or more without an ounce of difficulty and clearly no need for even a spotter.

_Damn._

And even the newcomers… Regardless of that fact they weren’t _technically_ Avengers.

Sam had seen James Barnes in action in Washington. On the highway and on the Insight Helicarrier. He knew exactly how skilled the World War II veteran turned brainwashed super-soldier for HYDRA was and how out of his league the Winter Soldier had been. Ripping one of his wings off like it was nothing and then drop-kicking him off the side of the VTOL ship.

Oh, yeah. Sam knew when he was outclassed. As if having his ass handed to him in less than a minute wasn’t indicative enough of his weaknesses and normal-ness.

And then there was Rhiannon Lastimosa. The Titan Pilot from several hundred years in the future of an alternate reality. A third super-soldier, though of a slightly different flavor than Rogers or Barnes. As he’d said once before, the blonde woman fought like something right out of some science-fiction action movie. Sure, she was fast and strong just like the other two, but with that little waist-mounted thruster assembly her fighting style took to new and unmatched heights.

Literally.

The wall-running was dope as fuck to watch.

In comparison to people like that… Sam just didn’t understand how he belonged. He could admit that he was a good shot, a fair hand-to-hand combatant and – with the EXO-7 – he could fly. But when that was put in contrast to the myriad abilities of his fellow superheroes?

He was more like a discount Iron Man than anything else.

But regardless of his self-perceived faults and failings, Sam was willing to give the whole superhero thing a fair shot. Which was the whole reason he was in the gym at the same time all of the others were. It had been mentioned in passing that the early afternoon workout session was becoming a pretty usual thing. So, Sam had been stretching himself out, getting ready for an extensive turn on one of the rowing machines, when he looked up and saw Steve Rogers entering the gym.

Now it was only Stark and Banner who weren’t in attendance, but the two geniuses were hard at work trying to solve the mysteries of Lastimosa’s alien sphere and mostly likely wouldn’t emerge until later.

“Hey, man,” he called out, waving a hand and beckoning the Captain over. “You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry. Had to take a last-minute call.”

“Anything important?”

“It was just from Pepper,” Steve said with a shrug of his shoulders. “About Buck.”

“Yeah? And how’s that going? She having any luck finding the right people?” Sam asked as the blonde super-soldier set down the towel and water bottle that he’d brought and began his own stretches.

“Not as of yet,” Steve admitted with a sigh. “But she said that she’s got a couple promising leads that she was going to be following up on this coming week.”

“Here’s hoping, man. Here’s hoping,” Sam said. “But speaking of Barnes… Damn if that man doesn’t still scare the piss out of me even when he’s on our side.”

Steve froze halfway through a lunge and turned his head towards Sam, looking torn between curiosity and an anxious sort of worry. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Cool your jets, Rogers. It wasn’t anything bad. Just took me by surprise. Romanoff told me about that story that Lastimosa told on Turkey Day and I wanted to hear it for myself,” Sam explained. “She and I got here at about the same time so we started chatting. May have flirted with her a little bit, because hey, she’s pretty hot. Next thing I know Barnes is there and looking about as happy as he always does, which is to say not at all. Didn’t hear a single sound. Just POOF! There he was. Scowl and all. Scared the livin’ daylights outta me. A man that large should not be that quiet. And of course, Lastimosa just began laughing when I nearly jumped out of my skin. Hey, wipe that smirk off your face, Rogers. It isn’t funny.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the blonde said, though the amused expression was slow to vanish. It was like a watching a game of tug of war on his face. The smirk would wane and then come back full force.

“Nah, I don’t think you are,” Sam said. “I’m thinking you’re sorrier that you missed it.”

The smirk widened and Rogers didn’t even try to hide it this time or beat it back. “Maybe.” He tilts his head to side and gets an inquisitive look on his face as he looks around the gym. Sam knows when the man spots the two other super-soldiers, who had commandeered a pair of treadmills and were running like something was chasing after them. Hardly their top speeds, but enough that Sam wondered how long the machines could maintain that high of a setting. “What are they doing?”

“Not sure. They stretched out for a while and then started doing that after talking for a bit. You wanna go find out? Might be interesting.”

But no sooner had Sam made the suggestion, Lastimosa’s gray-green eyes happened to glance over in their direction and lit up at the sight of Steve with a broad grin to accompany the expression.

“Hey, Rogers!” she called out, hardly even panting for breath in spite of her ridiculous pace. But, Sam supposed, the pair had only been running for less than ten minutes. He doubted that it would be enough to tire them out just yet. “Just in time. You wanna run with us? Doin’ a 20K.”

He and Steve stood from their stretches and made their way across the room, each with their towels and bottles in hand. Sam took notice as they walked that the blonde had an oddly happy sort of look his face that the dark-skinned man wasn’t sure he had ever seen before. Like a cross between amusement, curiosity and absolute contentment.

It was a good look for the guy.

“Why?” Steve asked.

“Why not?” she shot back without breaking her stride. “It’s a race and right now you’re losing big time.”

Rogers seemed more than game for the challenge, quickly putting down his things and jumping onto the treadmill next to the blonde woman and turning the machine on. “We’ll see about that, Lastimosa. How far behind am I?”

“Two kilometers,” Barnes answered after a quick glance down at a display screen.

“Better catch up, Steve,” the woman teased. “First to finish might win a prize.”

Sam instinctually blurted out, “That’s what she said.”

Lastimosa began to laugh even through her regulated breathing for the run. Barnes let out a single bark of laughter, which Sam would take as a resounding victory. And the both of them had almost stumbled from the unexpected shock of his joke. Just the slightest hitch in their stride that if he hadn’t been paying attention he likely would have missed out on. But it was Steve’s reaction that took the cake.

God, the man was so easy to fluster sometimes and it was always so, so obvious.

But even through the red flush on his cheeks, Steve got to running on the treadmill, setting just as brisk of a pace for himself as the other two. Or perhaps one that was even slightly faster in an effort to play catch up, but Sam couldn’t really tell by just watching.

But it was quite a sight. One that he kept a partial eye on as he wandered away to get started with his own workout, still having his eye on one of the rowing machines, and leaving the super-soldier trio to their competition. However, before he made it to his destination, out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Barton, Romanoff and Thor had gathered over near the free weights and were beckoning him over.

“What’s up?” he greeted as he joined them.

“So, what do you think?” the red-haired woman asked immediately and with a great deal of ambiguity.

“Think about what?” he asked.

“Them,” Barton said with a nod to the three runners.

“What do you mean?”

Thor cleared his throat lightly to draw Sam’s attention. “What they are meaning to ask is what you might think about the chances of a romantic relationship forming between Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes and the Lady Rhiannon.”

Well…

Sam had not seen that coming.

“What? Do you mean to tell me that…”

“Don’t be dense, Wilson,” Natasha said with a disapproving frown and narrowed eyes. “You’ve been back at the Compound for a week and a half now and you mean to tell us that you haven’t noticed the constant tension between those three? Especially recently. All the glances. The gravitating around one another. Or the way that Rogers looks so longingly across a room when Barnes and Lastimosa are in it.”

“I mean… yeah. But I didn’t think it was like that,” Sam said, but he began to think about it now that the idea had been planted in his brain. “But now that you’re mentioning it… I always wondered why I got a distinctly bisexual vibe from Rogers. Makes a hell of a lot of sense now.”

“Mhmm,” Clint hummed in agreement. “Rogers and Barnes were apparently together back in the day. Not just best friends, but lovers. For years. Of course, that was all a big secret then and still is, obviously. But now that Barnes is here and looking back at Steve’s behavior all this time… It’s so obvious when you know where to look.”

“So says the international super-spies that are specifically trained to just look at a person and know almost everything about them,” Sam snipped sarcastically, but then got thoughtful. “But what are you aiming for? And how do you even know that they’d been willing to go for it? Sexual attraction is one thing, but an actual relationship? That’s going to take investment and emotions and commitment. Poly on top of that is going to take even more effort and careful management. And aren’t Stark and Banner still trying to find a way home for Lastimosa? That’s a bit of a hitch in your plans.”

“Yeah, they are. With there aren’t any guarantees that they’ll succeed,” Romanoff said. “But we’re hoping to have a certain someone – Barnes or Steve – try to convince her to stick around long-term.”

“What makes you think that they will?” he asked. “Or that she’ll say yes?”

“Because they’re already at least halfway to being in love with each other,” Clint supplied. “Or already are in a couple of specific cases.”

“Who?” Sam asked curiously.

“Rogers is still in love with Barnes, for certain,” Barton said as he began to count off on his fingers. “And Lastimosa has openly admitted to Nat that she’s got feelings for Barnes. The real trouble is going to be Steve and Lastimosa. Barnes is also going to be difficult, but that isn’t something we can influence. The man needs to heal on his own, but I’d bet more than anything that having the two blondes there to help and support him will do wonders.”

“Aye. I agree. The three of them have such well-matched energies,” Thor added in a whisper as if the knowledge was a great secret. “I am quite positive that with a nudge in the proper direction and given the time to mature and flourish, these three warriors will be able to form an indestructible bond of unwavering love.”

“But time is something that we might not have,” Sam argued logically. “The geniuses could figure out the alien tech tomorrow for all we know.”

The red-head shook her head. “They’re not that close. They’ve only just gotten to the point where they’re starting to put together their own jump drive for the testing phase to see what the sphere will react to. I talked to Bruce. They’re still very far away from being capable of trying to send Lastimosa back to her reality.”

“Though, Sam brings up a good point,” Barton added. “We do have a bit of a non-defined, but still very important, deadline to adhere to and we should make a tentative time frame for all of our plans. We’ve gotta get them all together before Lastimosa is able to return home, because that is still a possibility. If she leaves then Barnes is not going to handle it well and Steve is probably going to be a mess too.”

The other three hummed in agreement with the archer’s truthful assessment.

“Well, if I’m gonna be playing matchmaker, I plan to make it worth my while. How about we bet on it?” Sam asked with a playful smile. He was all for fostering a bit of romance. Though, he would admit that he was mildly disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to have his fair shot with a woman like Lastimosa. What he’d told Steve had been the honest truth. The woman was hot. Smokin’ hot and he wouldn’t have turned down the opportunity to take a lady like her on a couple of dates and try to get her in bed.

“What’ll the bet be?” Clint asked, but Romanoff had a cat-like grin taking its place on her face.

“How about we all choose a date?” she suggested. “The winner is the person who guesses the date closest to the day that they get together. But what should be the prize?”

“Money?” Sam asked. It was a boring answer, but a little bit of extra cash was always good in his book.

Clint nodded his head in agreement. “How about a hundred bucks given to the winner by each of the losers? One for each of the super-soldiers to make a nice three hundred in total.”

“I am in possession of sufficient funds to agree to this wager,” Thor said with a wide grin.

“Then it’s a deal,” Natasha added. “We’ll take the weekend to choose our date and then tell each other our picks on Monday.”

“Deal,” the three men chorused together, but still quietly, and so it was that Team Matchmaker gained a fourth member.

* * *

He had been doing better these past few days.

The side effects left behind after the trauma of his memory turned nightmare – the recollection of yet another of the Soldier’s missions – had lingered for some time afterwards.

Like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

When Bucky had woken up that morning just as the sun was beginning to rise, feeling a bone-deep weariness and the pounding of a mild headache within his skull, he had been pleasantly surprised. Not by his symptoms. Those were par for the course. Not even his enhanced rate of healing could fully deal with the hormonal repercussions of such an intense suffering and emotional upheaval. Physical injuries were easy and that sort of pain could be ignored. But those concerning his still healing mind and his resurgence of intense emotions were out of reach. Only time might be able to heal those wounds.

But no.

The surprise had come when he had opened his eyes and found himself wedged firmly between Steve and Rhia, who were both still fast asleep. With one blonde pressed tight against his back and a thick arm slung all the way over his waist with its splayed palm resting against the tanned stomach of Rhiannon. Bucky even had his own arm wrapped around Rhia, who in turn had gently intertwined the fingers of her hand with the metal of his own.

It had been so nice. So comfortable and warm between them.

A place where he knew that he was safe.

However, it was also a place that he wasn’t wholly convinced that he deserved to be.

And yet, he couldn’t muster the motivation to make an attempt at getting up. Entangled as they were – even if he had actually had the desire to leave – it would’ve been impossible to sneak out. Even for him.

He lay there and basked in the sensations. Soaking in the moment, all the while doing his level best to beat back the incessant whisperings of his conscience. The murmuring of all of his insecurities and the constant reminders of all the brutal horrors that he had committed. A murderer like him had no place being snuggled so affectionately between a pair of such golden-hearted people.

But he couldn’t make himself leave. Drawing in every feeling through the pores on his skin.

It was like bathing out underneath the light of the sun.

A heat that he would gladly have chosen to burn in.

And like every sunbather often did, Bucky had ended up dozing back off to sleep only to wake when the others began to stir later on. It had been a quiet morning that followed. And an awkward one. At least between Steve and Rhia. Had the brunet felt better at the time it might have been amusing to watch the two tip-toeing around each other while trying to make breakfast and take care of him simultaneously.

They had been the perfect definition of stilted domesticity.

His recovery from the returned memory had been a slow-going series of improvements. But today he had finally felt ready enough to stick his neck back out into the semi-public of the Compound’s few occupants. He needed to go to the gym and burn off the rampant energy that always plagued him.

How he hated being a super-soldier sometimes.

He’d entered the gym and immediately spotted Wilson talking with Rhia. A smile on both of their faces and a moment of laughter shared between them sparked by whatever it was they were talking about.

His gut had churned with an unfamiliar jealousy at the sight.

Bucky had been quick to stalk up behind the dark-skinned man and make his presence known, more than aware of how frightening he could be and using it to his advantage. A petty reaction to seeing another man talking to the woman he currently cared most about in the world, but he was acting on instinct and without thought.

Wilson needed to back right the fuck off.

Rhiannon had noticed him first even before he had reached them, and it was the movement of her eyes that made Wilson turn. A sense of satisfaction filled him as he watched the man flinch and take an instinctual half-step away when seeing him. Just standing there and hovering in a slightly threatening manner. Followed with a warm sort of pleasure as Rhia’s smile grew brighter as she laughed and shook her head in exasperation and amusement.

Then Rhia had suggested the 20K to him. It would’ve been better to run outside, but with the winter weather beginning in earnest and their shared dislike of the cold, the treadmills were the next best thing. And after nearly forty minutes of sustained effort, Bucky had emerged victorious. He had continued to stay ahead of Rhia, who was unable to keep pace without her jumpkit, and managed to maintain the lead he had on Steve. But it had been a close thing with both of the blondes pushing themselves to try and win.

After toweling off the sweat and drinking some water, Rhia had invited Bucky to join her in the ring, but he had chosen to decline. He didn’t particular want to fight anyone. After the memory he was doing his best to stay away from any sort of violence for a while, controlled as it might have been in the sparring ring. But Steve had offered to spar with her in his place and she seemed happy to accept the proposal. It wasn’t as if the trio of super-soldiers were very tired, despite the twenty kilometers they had run, so the blondes had more than enough energy to have a good and fair match up.

That was how he found himself taking a seat on a bench off to the side, leaning over to rest his arms on his knees and watching Steve and Rhia fight each other. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the archer was walking in his direction with his own towel and water bottle in hand. The sandy-haired man and the Widow had been working in the ring, finishing just in time to switch out with Steve and Rhiannon. Though, the red-haired woman had stayed near the arena to watch the unfolding match.

The Asgardian and Sam had left some time earlier, so it was only the five of them in the large room.

“Hey,” Barton greeted warmly and Bucky nodded his head in return. “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Bucky was disinclined to speak, though he had a sneaking suspicion that the other man had something to say. Some purpose to sitting down with him other than just resting after his exertions. Perhaps this was meant to be a follow-up to their prior conversation all those weeks ago? Just maybe, once the hardest hitting symptoms of his nightmare had waned to a more comfortable degree, he might consider speaking with Barton about things.

Maybe.

But the question that the archer asked wasn’t the one he had been expecting. “Those two are pretty well matched, don’t you think?”

Steve and Rhia had finished with the slow beginning of their fight and had begun to probe and prod at each other’s defenses. Each of the muscular blondes trying to find each other’s weaknesses and getting a feel for the other’s style of combat. Barton’s assessment wasn’t wrong, but in such early stages of the fight it would be difficult to determine who would win.

“For now,” Bucky said, having a fair knowledge of how Rhiannon fought after all the times that he had sparred against her. The woman was good. Really good and fought dirty more often than not. “But if he lets it go too long then Rhia will gain the advantage.”

“Why’s that?” Clint asked curiously.

“She has more stamina. She can outlast him if she’s smart. And she has more combat experience.”

“Steve is stronger and faster than her, though,” the archer argued and Bucky shook his head.

“So am I,” he admitted. “But she still beats me more often than not. It’s just that her combat style isn’t something any of us are used to and have trouble adapting to. Pilot’s just don’t fight like people stuck with their feet on the ground do. And Steve may have the reach, but she has flexibility.”

“Mmm,” Barton hummed in thought. “So, do you know how long she’s been active in the field?”

The dark-haired man wondered why he was asking, but decided that answering wasn’t something that would threaten Rhia’s safety. If anything, the answer would be more likely to make them far more wary of trying to mess with the blonde woman. “Somewhere around fifteen years… Officially,” he said.

Barton turned his head with a concerned expression on his face. “And unofficially?” he asked.

“Closer to twenty.”

“And she’s how old? Thirty-something?”

“Thirty-three.”

“Damn. She was barely even a teenager when she started fighting then.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply when a masculine shout from the ring snagged their attention. Both of their head snapping towards the ring and they watched in awe as Rhia brought her opponent down to the mat. The tattooed woman had closed the distance and circled around behind Steve, sinking into a crouch and taking out his legs at the knee with a side-sweeping kick. The harsh smacking sound of Steve landing on his back made the two on the bench flinch in sympathetic pain.

Just because it was padded didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt like a bitch on a hard impact.

Rhiannon backed away for a brief second as Steve began to try and regain his feet, but in the process of him trying to stand the woman dashed forward to go for the pin and end the round. Steve took a swipe at her with one of his arms, trying to fend her off but she dodged, looping around and snagging that very same arm with both of her own. Rhia torqued the thick arm back and around into a joint lock, shoving her opponent down onto his knees from the force and momentum while keeping the arm up high. A quick yank on the arm with her considerable strength, enough to bodily move the already off-balance Steve without difficulty, had him sprawling out onto his stomach. A quick tap of one of her bare feet against the side of his head – what would have been a finishing move in a real fight to snap his neck or knock him unconscious – signaled the end of the fight and Rhiannon’s victory for Round One.

“I’m disappointed in you, Rogers,” Romanoff chimed loudly from the sidelines as Rhiannon released Steve and offered a tattooed arm to pull from up from the ground. “Why don’t you tap out and let a professional show you how it’s done?”

The blonde woman seemed enthused with the suggestion. “Finally making good on that offer, huh?”

“Getting tired of seeing you pin down Barnes and now getting Captain America on his knees so easily,” the red-head snapped back playfully and not without a hefty dose of innuendo, which had Barton snorting a quick laugh from beside him and brought a quick grin to Bucky’s face. Rhia kept winning because they didn’t know how to fight her quite yet, but things would even out eventually. “Someone’s gotta bring you down from your high horse and it might as well be me.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Steve asked from between the two women, who snapped their heads in his direction with fierce and competitive grins – almost feral – beginning to form on both of their faces.

“No,” they barked out harshly and the blonde actually took a step back from the ferocity both women were suddenly displaying.

“Go on, Steve,” Rhiannon said in a gentler tone of voice, nudging at the man’s shoulders to herd him towards the edge and force him to exit the ring. “Shoo shoo shoo! It’s girl time now.”

Wisely, the blonde super-soldier did exactly that and began to make his way over towards their bench.

“This is either going to go really well and they’ll become the best of friends,” Clint began from his seat to Bucky’s left. “Or it’s going to go horribly and we’re going to have to break them up in a minute. And with that being said I think I’m going to go over there and babysit just in case.”

“Good luck,” Barnes muttered. “You’ll need it.”

But no sooner had Barton left was when Steve decided to take his place on the bench.

“Hey, Buck,” he said.

“Hi.”

“How you doing?”

“Better,” Bucky said. An honest answer, but he wasn’t feeling like elaborating on his continual poor sleep schedule and the flashbacks that came to him every once in a while. Or the phantom sensations of a knife in his hand, the rough scrape of a rope slipping through his fingers or the tackiness of blood.

“Good,” Steve said with a nod of his head. Though, he seemed far from fully assuaged, but willing to let it slide for now. “That’s good.”

They both looked on to the sparring match winding up in the ring between the two women. It was a challenge to not compare the two equally lethal females. To the eyes there were a study in contrasts. At least in regards to their physical appearances.

Romanoff. Short, compact and curvaceous. Fiery red hair, emerald eyes and pale skin. She looked soft and feminine to the casual observer, but Bucky wasn’t stupid. He knew that the Black Widow was meant to be that way. The Red Room specifically chose and abducted girls who would grow up to be incredibly beautiful women. Deadly in combat, but just as lethal with their words and intellect when needed. Spies and assassins in a package that no one would expect.

And then there was Rhia. Nearly a head taller than the Widow, with her darkly tanned skin and obvious musculature. Like what Bucky imagined an Amazon warrior out of Greek Mythology might’ve looked like. She had feminine curves – particularly at the hips – but in comparison to her red-haired opponent they were far less noticeable. Though, she was no less attractive in the dark-haired man’s eyes. In fact, she might’ve been more so. There was a realism to Rhia– the slightest imperfection in her features and the lack of shame she bore for her more masculine body type – that drew him in like a fly to honey.

Such confidence in a woman was definitely a turn-on.

She was a bearcat to the bone.

And Bucky had always liked blondes more than any other hair color.

The two’s fighting styles played to their strengths, as they should. Natasha was quick and smart, closing the distance with Rhia to employ the same sort of tactics she would utilize against any larger opponent. Moving straight to grappling after opening with a series of powerful kicks and sharp jabs at weak areas. Rhia, on the other hand, was using her superior speed to dodge Romanoff’s attempts to close and acting more like Steve or he might have in this sort of situation. She used the full extension of her limbs to keep the red-head at bay, trying to knock her off balance, before sweeping in to capitalize on an opportunity for a debilitating strike.

“There’s a big difference between watching her fight and actually fighting her,” Steve commented with nod towards Rhiannon who had backed off to the far side of the ring.

“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed in agreement. He had never gotten the opportunity to see Rhia fight from this angle. Usually it was her versus him, or that one time in the mountains when they’d both been too busy fighting HYDRA to stop and spectate the other.

“Speaking of which…” Steve prompted hesitantly. “I know that Tony and Bruce are working on a way for Rhiannon to go back home but…” He trailed off and began to fidget with his hands nervously, placing one of his hands over the other and beginning to rub at his knuckles while looking down at the floor.

“But what?” Bucky asked.

“What if I asked her to stay here? Do you think she’d agree?”

“Why would you do that?” he asked in confusion. What was Steve on about?

“For you.”

“Steve…” he began to say before being interrupted as Steve shifted slightly on the bench to face him. A desperate sort of look in his pale blue eyes with only the slightest speckling of green, which was almost invisible to all but an enhanced eye, in the iris.

“Hear me out, Bucky,” the blonde pleaded with his hands held up. “You care about her – don’t try to lie – and I’m not dumb enough to miss the way you look at her sometimes. And she cares for you just as much. I know it. I’ve seen it. And all I want is what’s best for you. What makes you the happiest. And she does that.”

“But what about you?” he asked lowly.

“What about me?”

“You deserve to be happy too, Steve.”

“Your happiness will make me happy,” the blonde said with a sad smile and shake of his head. “I don’t need anything more than that.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky snapped with a scowl.

“What?”

“That’s a load of bullshit,” he hissed. “Back at that HYDRA base you said that you still loved me.”

“I do,” Steve assured him. “That hasn’t changed.”

“Then why would give up the chance to get what we used to have back in exchange for me to be with a woman?” he demanded angrily, but took care to keep his voice quiet enough to not draw any notice. “I remember enough to know that you were always jealous and disliked all of my previous girlfriends.” He took a deep breath to try and push his anger back down, but it just kept coming despite his efforts. “And why would you even try to ask Rhia to give up everything she loves for a fuck-up like me?”

“Bucky…” the blonde began to say, but the metal-armed brunet wasn’t done yet.

“No, Steve. You can’t do it,” he said. “You can’t ask her that. Don’t you even dare. And anyways, I don’t… I don’t even know if I’m going to be sticking around for too much longer.”

Steve’s face paled, jaw slack and eyes wide. “What? What do you mean? Where are you going? Bucky, you can’t leave… I can’t – I can’t lose you again.” The blonde’s voice broke on the last few words.

“It… It’s just an idea I had the other day,” Bucky began, wondering if he should really be even saying this to Steve. He looked at the floor, too afraid to look in Steve’s eyes and see the possibility of betrayal in them. Or even the sadness that was sure to come. “If or when Stark and Banner figure out the sphere maybe… Maybe – if she’ll have me – I’ll go back with her. To Rhia’s reality. No one would know who I was and HYDRA wouldn’t be able to get me.”

“But… But I’ve been trying to find lawyers for you. To get rid of the charges against you.”

The thought was honestly appreciated but the blonde’s optimism was nothing more than a pipe-dream. “Steve, no lawyer in the world is going to want to make an argument for the innocence of a brainwashed assassin. Not with the crimes I’ve committed. There’s no way I would ever be acquitted.”

“You were a prisoner of war!” Steve hissed angrily, eyes narrowed and his teeth grit together in a snarl.

“That won’t matter to a judge. They won’t care that I wasn’t in my right mind.” His metal left and normal right came up and he loosely made fists with them both and he stared in disgust down at them. “These hands killed people for no other reason than the fact that someone told me to do it.”

“What about an insanity defense?” Steve suggested.

“Oh! Right. So instead of being sent to a maximum-security prison – if I don’t get the death penalty, which would be a miracle in and of itself – I get to live out the rest of my life in a maximum-security psych ward instead. What fun.”

He just wouldn’t quit, would he? Steve had opened his mouth again to saying something else. To keep arguing with him, but Bucky was done. He couldn’t listen to this. He couldn’t let himself have that sort of hope that Steve’s begging and pleading would eventually end up giving him. The kind that would break him when reality came crashing back in and stole away everything that he held dear or had dared to try and have for himself.

There was no happily ever after for someone like him.

“I’m not worth the effort, Steve,” he said with finality. “And the more you try to save me from what I’ve done the more danger you’re going to be putting yourself in. That’s not a risk I’m willing to take and it’s not a kind of suffering that I’ll allow you to endure on my behalf.”

The metal-armed man stood, grabbing his towel and emptied water bottle, and made for the exit of the gym. He wasn’t even willing to stay and watch the result of Romanoff’s match against Rhia. He wasn’t in the mood anymore for being around others. He’d go back to his apartment and take a shower. Maybe make something to eat and finish reading one of the books he had started. Or maybe watch a movie.

Something to keep himself occupied and distracted.

All the while unaware of the broken and distraught looking Steve Rogers he had left in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Weekend, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. A little bit of Sam to start you off, because I hadn't given the man his time in the spotlight, and then some more emotional and conflicted Bucky. Poor guy. I just can't let him have a break, can I? Or Steve for that matter. Just gotta dive into those big manly emotions and rip 'em to shreds with my terrible little author hands. Anywho... More to come, so stay tuned for Chapter 20 in a few days. It's gunna be a big one. At least plot-wise. I can never guess how long these thing are going to be until I'm about 80% done writing them. And credit given to AnnaLegendz who commented that there should've been a bet made by Team Matchmaker, so now there is and we'll have to wait and see who the big winner ends up being. Also, this is now officially the longest ever fanfiction I've ever written and published, so yay! And thanks to all of you for coming along for the ride!
> 
> So... who else caught my little Mass Effect reference, for those of you who are familiar with the games and dear sweet Garrus Vakarian? Anyone? I really hope someone got it and had a little chuckle in honor of one of the best video game boyfriends ever and his bumbling ways of romance.


	20. Chapter 20

**1137 HOURS | DECEMBER 19, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

For the very first day of attempted testing, Stark and Banner had actually invited her to join them in the engineering laboratory they had commandeered for the construction of their knock-off jump drive. Rhia took them up their offer, more than willing to look over their work and to bear witness their first trial run. If things went well – and how she prayed that they did – she would be one step closer to being able to return home.

One step closer to the Frontier.

The two had been hard at work since earlier in the morning, while she had come in later on. Striding into the room with her helmet under her arm, jumpkit and harness slung over her other shoulder, as well as a small bag of specialized tools and cleaning equipment. The helmet was so that Rome could be present and lend his own expertise, while she had brought her jumpkit because it needed a look over. After so much time spent without constant use, the thruster pack was prone to malfunctions. So, she was going to take it apart and run through everything with a fine-tooth comb.

And that was what she had been doing for the past hour, working and listening to the two men banter back and forth like the good friends and colleagues that they appeared to be.

“Can’t believe you didn't even let me get you a cake. Or a single present.”

Tony Stark had been sending over-the-top pathetic expressions at his fellow teammate. Apparently, the previous day had been Doctor Banner’s birthday and he had refused to allow any amount of celebration. No party, no cake and no presents.

“Tony, I’ve already told you this before. I don’t like making a big deal about it. It’s not important.”

Rhiannon on the one hand agreed with the scientist’s opinion. There was little reason to celebrate being a year older. It was just a number. But on the other hand, she also could not deny that she also enjoyed both eating cake and getting presents.

“But…”

“No.”

“But!”

“Tony. No.”

“Bruce,” the multi-billionaire and inventor whined – long and drawn out – and the other man huffed a heavy sigh and glanced over at her as if begging for help. Rhia shrugged in mock helplessness, but with a small and amused smile on her face as a result of the entertainment she was being provided. At times the two seemed to have the same sort of teasing and antagonistic comradery that Davis and Droz did.

“At least tell me that you’re still coming back to the Tower for Christmas and New Year’s. You promised and Pepper will be very sad and disappointed if you don’t.”

“Yes, Tony,” Banner agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll still be there.”

“Good,” Stark said with a sharp nod of his head and a bright smile.

“But you better not have gotten me anything extravagant as a present.”

“Now why would I have done that?”

“Because that’s what you did last year. Late, obviously, but you still bought me a car.”

“So?”

“It was a Ferrari.”

“Yeah… Still not seeing a problem here.”

“Oh, really? A Ferrari F12 Berlinetta with over seven hundred and forty horsepower doesn’t seem like a problem to you? Where am I going to drive a car like that?”

“Wherever you want to.”

“Tony.”

But it seemed as though her insistence on not interrupting their banter had the opposite effect of what she had been intending it to. No longer was she going to be left to her own devices on the outskirts, happily reassembling the guts of her jumpkit, until she was needed. No. Apparently, she was now going to be the new target as Stark set about ignoring the other man and his protests and complaints and set his eyes on her as his new victim.

“So, I heard that you handed Spangles’ ass to him in the ring?” he prompted with a broad grin. “Shame I missed that. Barton said that it was quite a sight. I desperately would’ve liked to have seen Capsicle lose a fight in person. Hearing about it second-hand doesn’t quite have the same sense of satisfaction.”

Rhiannon opened her mouth to argue, more than ready to defend Steve’s fighting capability and claim that she had an unfair advantage with more combat experience under her belt than he did. But it appeared that the genius multi-billionaire wasn’t quite done yet.

“And then you and Romanoff went a few rounds after that,” he said and the grin became all the wider. “But what I don’t understand is how she managed to beat you, what with you being a super-soldier.”

“She didn’t win,” Rhia immediately shot back. “It was a draw.”

“That’s not how I heard it told. Two out of the three rounds ending in the Widow’s favor.”

It had been an even match-up between the two women, where Rhia had initially assumed that she would have had the advantage against the smaller and physically weaker woman. How wrong she had been. In a potent combination of skill, years of experience and taking advantage of her opponent’s exhaustion and distraction, the Black Widow had emerged victorious in that very first round. All of the energy wasted during the 20K and the heated match against Steve, in addition with moment Rhia had looked up and seen Barnes storming from the gym. In that second of distraction and weakness, the red-haired woman had tripped up her legs and pinned her down on the mat.

The blonde woman had looked to Steve for the reasoning behind Barnes’ abrupt departure, but found none. All she saw in that blue-eyed gaze, now filled to the brim to a profound sadness and a waning sense of hope, were more questions that she needed answered. The Captain was the next to leave, abandoning his workout to retreat somewhere else in the Compound and lick his emotional wounds.

How she had desired to follow. To find Barnes and figure out what had happened. To seek out Steve and soothe his own hurts. To restore the man’s confidence in chasing after his former lover.

This wasn’t how the two were supposed to be acting around each other.

But Romanoff, who so keenly knew the source of her distraction and saw the obvious desire in her to leave, counseled against it. Barton chimed in as well from his place leaning up against the edge of the ring. Both suggested that she wait and allow for time to pass so that each of the men could come down from their respective emotional highs.

At least for the amount of time it would take to finish a proper three-round sparring match.

And she had agreed, though somewhat reluctantly, and they continued the fight.

“Clint must’ve missed out on the fact that the last round ended in a tie. We were both unable to keep fighting in that position,” she explained. “And the last time I checked one win each and tie means that nobody actually won.”

Stark made a disbelieving sound from the back of his throat. “But the Widow definitely pinned you first.”

“I reversed the pin.”

“Eh…”

“That’s enough,” Banner chided lightly. “Don’t let him keep goading you into an argument, Rhiannon. Now I think we have this just about put together and ready to go. Do you want to give it a once over to make sure that we didn’t miss anything?” he asked. “This is, after all, our first jump drive prototype. Just because we had the schematics you gave us doesn’t mean that we couldn’t have messed up something.”

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed. “Just give me a minute to finish with this panel and I’ll be right over.”

With luck most of her work on the jumpkit was done. Everything had been fine with the exception of a few spots where particulates from the exhaust had begun to build-up into a light film that could – if left alone to fester and grow – clog the fuel lines. But the problem wasn’t anything that a bit of dedicated scrubbing couldn’t fix.

After finishing her work, she stood and made her way over to take a look over their efforts. She doubted that the two had made any mistakes, what with their combined academic intelligence being far greater than her own, but she knew jump drives. Somewhat. At least, she knew enough about them and how they worked a great deal more than either of these two did.

Rhia thought that it certainly looked like a jump drive as she walked around the large machine, standing at nearly waist-high and about a meter and a half in total length. She to check the connections for every wire and hose line and made doubly sure that every screw, nut and bolt was as tight as it could be. But everything looked to be in order as far as she could tell.

“How’s it look?” Stark asked, more seriously now that they were beyond the realm of playful banter. This was a matter of science. “Is there anything that we need to adjust before firing it up for a test run?”

“Not that I can see,” she said as she made one final circuit before nodding her head. “I think we’re about as ready as we’re going to be. Let’s wheel her into the testing chamber and we’ll fire her up and see what happens.”

And that was how the three found themselves clustered together outside of a much smaller room with the jump drive locked inside. With her helmet on her head, she watched as her HUD – paired up with Rome’s own programming – ran diagnostics on the machine, monitoring energy readings and forming hundreds of possible results for the test. Rhia had also shrugged into her jumpkit harness for the time being, feeling comforted by the heavy weight of the kit at the small of her back and the pressure of the straps wrapping around her body. Even if it felt a bit odd over a pair of dark wash jeans and a heavy hooded sweatshirt, instead of her usual jumpsuit and armor.

But it was a hell of lot easier than carrying it around in her arms.

“Beginning stage one ignition,” Bruce announced with a tablet linked with the drive held in his hands.

A soft droning hum began to emanate from the smaller room, akin to white noise. A familiar noise for Rhia, but one that was usually mostly drowned out by the main power-plant of the ships these drives were mounted in. It was only on dropships that one could really hear the jump drive idling along.

“Energy levels are stable and within normal parameters for the starting sequence,” RA-5172 reported from the external speakers of her helmet. By far, amongst those gathered, it was the Vanguard-class Titan who knew the most and it was his guidance that they would be relying on.

This test composed of two phases. The first was seeing it the machine would even start, which so far had been a resounding success. The second phase, however, would be the true test. Bringing the drive into a standby state. To ramp up the energy output as if they were preparing to make a jump and to hold it steady at that point for at least a few minutes in that state.

Banner dragged his finger up a slider on the tablet to increase the amount of power generated by the drive. The hum grew louder and the drone became ever so slightly high in pitch until it became an audible whine. But just as Rhiannon noted that the energy levels hit the minimum requirements for stand-by mode there was a spike in noise. The whine jumping upwards in both volume and pitch that she saw both of the men flinch with their unprotected ears. The energy output surged, bypassing the minimum goal that they had been aiming for, and continuing to rise steadily towards the maximum.

“Anomalous energy spike detected! Anomalous energy spike detected!” Rome reported loudly and was echoed by J.A.R.V.I.S. “Immediate shut down recommended!”

“Shut it down, Bruce!” Stark yelled, reaching out for the tablet as if he would do it himself. “Do it now!”

“I’m trying. It’s not responding!”

Rhia suddenly wished she had an Arc Grenade, or actually anything that could’ve generated an EMP. Or even her Data Knife! Just something that she could use to override and fry the electronics. But no, it looked like she was going to take care of this in a more hands-on way.

So much for a promising first test.

“Stark, get Banner out of here and keep trying to shut it down!” she yelled over whine, pushing them both out and in the direction of the door, before she grabbed a tool from a nearby table. With a particular large pipe wrench in hand, Rhia dashed to the testing chamber’s door and bolted in with the shouts and warning of Stark and Banner at her back. In an instant the white blurring and stars that accompanied an active jump drive clouded her vision, but she did her best to focus on the machine and the readings that were being displayed on her HUD. The energy levels were still rising and the machine’s overall temperature was getting well past normal.

“What do I wreck to make it stop, Rome?” she asked over the comm to her Titan, all external noise dampened to a manageable level for her cybernetically enhanced hearing. Immediately a series of hose lines were highlighted in a vibrant red and she lunged at her targets. With little care for finesse or the preservation of the mighty feat of engineering, she hooked the wrench over one of the lines and ripped it away with a spray of fuel. With every hose she ripped away, splattering herself in fluids, the drive’s terrible noise decreased in volume and pitch and the blurriness of her vision eased gradually.

And yet, the energy output continued to rise, building and building with no end in sight.

Why? How was it still going without a constant supply of fuel?

“Rome, why isn’t it stopping?” she demanded fearfully and the answer she got was not good.

“The sphere has formed a connection with the drive and is supplying it with energy,” the Vanguard said and she felt her gut sink with the information. The sphere. Was it going to jump? Was she going to be flung to some other reality and period of time? Was she going to have to do all of this all over again?

Honestly, she didn’t think she could do all of this again.

She wasn’t strong enough.

Suddenly, the whine returned with a vengeance and the drive produced one last surge of energy and Rhiannon’s vision went white and she felt herself being flung back against the wall. Her skull, protected as it was by her helmet, met the concrete with a crack upon impact and she felt herself floating just on the edge of unconsciousness, but couldn’t quite fall over the edge. Her ears rang, everything muffled like she was underwater until, bit by bit, she could make out two robotic voices calling out to her.

“Pilot Lastimosa, please respond,” Rome was repeating again and again and again. The concern for his Pilot overwhelming all of his other processes. Protocol Three demanding that he ascertain the status of her physical wellbeing as soon as possible. “Rhiannon, are you alright? Please respond immediately.”

But the other voice – J.A.R.V.I.S. – was saying something far more critical and worrying.

“Captain Lastimosa, the connection with the sphere was constructed as a feedback loop,” the Stark-made artificial intelligence was announcing rather loudly and urgently, broadcasting over RA-5172’s own voice in his efforts to be heard. “All of the energy created by the drive has been siphoned away into the sphere. It is currently in an active state and is beginning to overheat. It is likely going to detonate.”

The possibility of an imminent explosion had the blonde woman scrabbling at the wall with her hands, pulling herself up despite her still wavering vision and unstable legs. She needed to get to the sphere and get it away from the Compound as quickly as she could before something happened.

“I’m good. I’m on it,” she slurred out, stumbling in the direction of the now open door to the testing chamber, busted partially off of its hinges from the surge of kinetic force. “Where’re Stark and Banner? Were they close enough to get thrown by that blast?”

“Negative. Mister Stark and Doctor Banner are currently on their way to the laboratory where the sphere is being stored,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said and she shook her head, both in an attempt to clear her vision – ineffectually – and to express her dislike of their plan of action.

“No,” she demanded harshly, picking up her pace and running as quickly as she could down the hall. “Tell them to go and find the others and get them all somewhere safe. If it’s going to blow – or even make a jump – then they need to get away. Lock the doors if you have to, but you have to keep them away from the sphere. And warn everyone else in the building about what’s going on.”

“Captain…” the AI began to protest, but she wasn’t having it.

“Do it, J.A.R.V.I.S. I won’t have anyone dying or have what happened to me happen to them. This planet needs them. It doesn’t need me.”

“Pilot Lastimosa,” Rome announced suddenly. “Sergeant Barnes and Captain Rogers are both within the dropship at this point in time. What shall I do? Should I inform them of the situation? Do you require any assistance at this time?”

What were they doing there?

No.

There wasn’t any time to think about it. But she asked herself if she should tell them. They’d both come running to try and help. They would just end up getting in her way. She knew it. It was in both of their natures to do so. Better to keep them both ignorant for the time being and they would be safe enough in the dropship for now.

“Keep them there,” she ordered. “Don’t let them leave and don’t tell them. But when I tell you to, meet me out on the landing pad. We’re going to have to get the sphere away from this place and we’re going to have to do it fast.”

“Received.”

Rhiannon made it to the door to the lab without interruptions; with her eyesight cleared, her hearing restored and her limbs functioning as they normally would. She careened around the corner at full speed and thanked the miracle worker that was J.A.R.V.I.S. However it was that the AI had managed to do it – whatever it was that he had said to them – seemed to have worked to keep the scientists well out of her way.

But to be honest, she had half expected Stark and Banner to ignore her orders.

She opened the door and saw the safe where the sphere and its containment unit had been locked away. It would have looked untouched and pristine were it not for the blue light emanating around the edges of the door, a faint hum in the air and the slightly orange-hue to the metal bars of the locking mechanism. Glad that she had worn her gloves while working on her jumpkit, Rhiannon reached out and unlocked the door with quick jerking movements to keep her contact with the hot metal as brief as possible. But even then, she still felt the sear of heat through the heavy and protective fabric.

Nudging the door open with the toe of her boot, she laid eyes on the sphere. It looked like a small sun. A viable miniature of a blue giant star contained only barely by a silver, segmented shell of metal. The old containment unit, crafted by the best of the ARES Division, had been all but destroyed. The metallic ends of the cylinder just beginning to melt from the high temperatures and the transparent walls of not-glass warping and bubbling out of shape.

It was ruined and there was no way she was going to be able to carry the sphere in the unit. She’d have to take it out and find some other was to transport it.

A quick yank had the containment unit shattering it into ruins and the sphere tumbled and rolled out of the safe. An idea came to mind as it began to scorch and melt into the smooth and polished flooring. Rhia scrambled to remove her helmet and yanked her sweatshirt up and over her head. It wouldn’t do for long, but the sweatshirt should at least let her carry it in her hands for a short time. Maybe enough time to get it outside and away from this place.

Helmet pulled back onto her head, far from caring that the rough handling had it sitting uncomfortably over the messy bun she’d tied her hair back into, she crouched and began to swaddle the fucking thing in the heavy cloth. It was still painfully hot – even through the layers – but she couldn’t do any better in as great of a rush as she was in.

The damned thing was even vibrating slightly in her grasp.

“Sit-rep on the sphere,” she requested over the comm and she began her mad dash towards the nearest exit. Her jumpkit firing at her back in controlled burst of thrust when the environment allowed her to reach higher than normal speeds. “What’s it looking like now? How long do I have until it does whatever it’s going to do?”

Her first answer came from J.A.R.V.I.S. “The energy is continuing to spike, but without an accurate frame of the sphere’s limits, I cannot determine when the detonation will happen exactly. However, I would expect that it will be very soon based on other reactions of a somewhat similar nature. Please hurry, Captain Lastimosa. I do not think you have much time left.”

A second answer came from Rome. “The sphere is producing readings that are greater than those that were gathered when we first transitioned into this reality. The solar-like effects escaping from the shell are also an anomalous, secondary reaction, which was not recorded as happening before. This is a possible indication of there being too much energy – or the wrong sort of energy – being absorbed.”

“Shit,” she hissed.

This was bad. Very, very bad.

But first things first. She had to get it outside. She had to get it away.

And there was only one definitely way she would be able to do that.

One possible idea that might just work.

Time was running out and the sphere by now had burnt through the sweatshirt and the metal was resting against the surface of her gloves, which were proving to be absolutely worthless, and searing into the soon to be exposed skin of her hands. It hurt like a motherfucker. Her teeth grit into a snarl with her lips pulled back and every exhale hissing out to resist the urge to scream. Epidermis? Basically gone. Dermis? On its way to being gone. She could feel the blood beginning to slick her palms before it too began to burn away. But she was almost looking forward to when the nerve endings in her hands would be charred beyond the capacity for pain. That point couldn’t come soon enough in Rhiannon’s opinion.

If she survived this her hands were going to be a fucking mess.

Third-degree burns… At the very least.

If she was lucky.

Just over a minute after beginning her sprint towards an exit, without seeing a single other soul, she led a charge with her shoulder through the door and burst out into the frigidity of winter. Temperatures well below freezing with snow, ice and slush all over the ground except for those few places that had been plowed and shoveled by those of them living there. A group effort and a sort of physical exertion that she had both enjoyed and disliked at the same time.

The snow-dusted tarmac of the landing pad, with the dropship parked off to the side, was within sight.

“Rome, now. Intercept course. Quick as you can,” she barked over the comm, beginning to run in that direction and pulling on her reserves of adrenaline to make it there as quickly as possible. Pain and desperation could keep someone going for only so long and even her limits was fast approaching with the sphere having burnt her hands almost down to the bone.

“Affirmative. On my way.”

Her Titan came out of the ship, two additional humanoid figures – a blonde and brunet bundled up in their winter clothing – hot on his heels, but it was only the Vanguard that she was pleased to see. Vision tunneling until all she could see was Rome. Not Steve. Not Barnes. They didn’t matter in that moment.

She just had to get to him. Had to get to her Titan. Then everything would be okay.

Fifty meters to go.

Forty meters.

Thirty left.

Only twenty.

Just ten.

“Rome!” she yelled, over both comm and the external speakers, even as her voice broke from the volume and the screams of pain she was still refusing to utter. “Fastball! High and far! Now!”

RA-5172 slam fired his dash thrusters with a sound like a clap of thunder and an explosion, surging over those last few meters as she leapt up into his extended palm with a flare of her jumpkit. A quick turn of his body to point out over the frozen lake and snow-laden forest and his arm cranked back for a throw with the other held out for guidance.

It was such a useful tactic back on the Frontier.

“Pilot, are you…”

“Do it,” she commanded, ignoring the calls of her name, crouched on his hand with her own hands unwilling and unable to release the sphere. In the blink of an eye she was flung up and away into the air with all of the strength that a forty-ton mechanical construct could muster, further propelled by the constant firing of her jumpkit. The wind whistled outside of her helmet and she was instantly chilled down to the bone through what remained of her clothes.

Up and up and up she flew – hundreds of meters up and away – as she waited to be at the apex of her flight. To reach the highest and farthest point of the throw, from which she would toss the sphere and hope for the best.

The radio crackled to life with new reports from both J.A.R.V.I.S. and RA-5172.

One coming after the other with no time to reply between them both.

“Captain Lastimosa, the device’s detonation is imminent,” JARVIS announced. “Please remove it from your person as quickly as possible and course-correct to begin your descent with all haste back towards the Compound. You are quickly approaching the perimeter of the property and your security bracelet will activate if you pass beyond it.”

Well, it was too fucking late for that.

She reeled back her arm, well beyond the threshold of feeling any pain anymore, and prepared to throw the sphere with all of her remaining strength. Hopefully it would detonate in the air and not cause any damage to the forest or the lake or any of the other buildings in the area. Shrapnel was a possibility, she supposed, but maybe the heat would just vaporize all of the shell’s metal too.

One could only hope.

“Pilot,” her Titan then said. “The other members of the Avengers have joined Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes on the landing pad and they are all in varying states of distress. I am ninety percent certain that they will refuse any requests to flee the area or seek shelter in the dropship. Please advise.”

Fucking stubborn bastards.

The whole lot of them.

Damn them.

Why wouldn’t they just run and hide?

“Dome Shield,” was all she managed to say as she threw the sphere away, even further up and away, just as her HUD announced that she had passed beyond the marked borders of the Compound.

Three.

Two.

One.

Three seconds passed before currents of electricity suddenly began to course through her body and all of her muscles locked up and began to spasm uncontrollably. Not enough power to kill her, but enough to disable and knock her out. In a distant corner of her mind that began to grow fuzzy and her thoughts disjointed, she managed to curse the fact that the bracelet hadn’t been melted into slag by the sphere’s heat. But the damned thing had ridden up her forearm far enough to escape the majority of the heat.

The shocks continued and continued, her jumpkit even cutting out from the sudden power surge, and then she was consumed by darkness and falling before she even managed to see the explosion.

* * *

A week.

He’d given Bucky a week to calm himself, busying himself with other tasks about the Compound. A wide variety of things that were either Avenger-related, personal or miscellaneous. Like shoveling away the inches of snow that covered the walkways around the main building of the Compound and spreading a mixture of ice-melt, salt and sand on the cleared concrete.

But it had be hellish to stay away, regardless of the fact that Steve had needed his own time to think about things. The situation. The options. Strategies that he might employ to bring about a favorable outcome to his problems. But most of all he had remembered what Rhiannon had said to him during the night of Bucky’s nightmare. In that peaceful moment sitting on the floor, hand in hand on either side of the traumatized man between them.

He had to take care of him. Even when Bucky didn’t want him to.

No matter what the other man said or did, however much it might end up hurting him, Steve wouldn’t give up. He’d never give up on Bucky. ‘Til the end of the line. Wherever it was that line led. Maybe even into a different reality, if that became necessary.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, where’s Bucky right now?” he asked the AI.

“Sergeant Barnes is currently in Captain Lastimosa’s dropship.”

“What’s he doing there?”

“I do not know,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “I have neither audio or video monitoring capabilities within the ship, but Romeo-Alpha-5172 has confirmed the fact that the Sergeant is within the ship.”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed. “Well, I’ll just have to go and find out for myself then.”

“Very well, Captain. I wish you the best of luck and a good rest of your day.”

“Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S. You too.”

He returned to him room to dress appropriately for the weather, pulling on a pair of boots along with a heavy jacket, a thick winter hat to keep his ears warm and a pair of gloves. How he despised the cold, snow and ice even more now after his time frozen in the Arctic. When his health had been poor, winter was the always the season where he ended up spending far too much time toeing the line between ill and his own mediocre standards of healthy. And now it was wintry settings that often accompanied the worst of his memories turned into nightmares.

Crashing the _Valkyrie_.

Losing Bucky in the Alps.

Properly clothed, Steve made his way outside and walked briskly towards the dropship. The snow and ice on the asphalt crunched under his boots. Even before he got there, he began to hear the sounds of metal on metal, a loud and repetitive clanging and what might have been a spring being dropped.

Just what was Bucky up to?

Gutting and cleaning an enormous gun – one of the Titan weapons – apparently.

Bucky was sitting at the very back of the ship, and while the cargo door was open, the heating systems within the ship were running to counteract the chill of the outdoors. XO16A2 was emblazoned across the thick plate of gray metal in the brown-haired man’s grasp as he twisted to set it off to the side next to a line of orderly parts. The Vanguard-class Titan was crouching nearby, but it didn’t seem as though the two were actually talking at the moment. But on a closer look the singular eye of the sentient machine was only glowing dully. Was he in an idle mode or partially shut down or something?

Sharp blue-gray eyes snapped up with his first step onto the ramp.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, pulling one of his gloved hands out of the fleece-lined interior of his jacket pocket to wave sheepishly. How he hoped that Bucky wouldn’t immediately ask him to leave. Just as Steve had been keeping his distance, his former lover had been doing the same for the entirety of the week. “I was lookin’ for you.”

“What do you want, Steve?” he asked, looking back down to the gun parts in his hands.

“To talk.”

“About what?”

“Well, actually…” Steve glanced off towards the Titan nervously. This was what he supposed might be called a private conversation and it felt odd to have it with an obvious third part just there and most likely listening. But then again J.A.R.V.I.S. was probably listening in on a lot of side conversations that went on in the Compound and at the Tower. “I wanted to talk to you about your idea of going back to Rhia’s reality with her.”

That caught Bucky’s attention as he looked up again, but was still keeping his face carefully blank and unreadable. “Why?”

“I – I thought about what you said. About the likelihood of a court case actually going our way. I still think it’s possible, but if you’re dead set on leaving then I won’t try and stop you,” Steve said. “All I’d ask is that maybe we could convince Rhiannon to wait before she left. Just long enough that we could get the HYDRA situation more under control.”

“We?”

“Yeah.” Steve shifted on his feet slightly, glancing down at the metal paneling beneath his feet with a sudden surge of irrational nerves. “I mean, I don’t know how long it will take for Tony and Bruce to figure out the sphere, but when they do…”

“Get to the point, Steve.”

“I’ll go with you.

“What?”

“I said that I’ll go with you. With the both of you.”

He took the leap from this metaphorical cliff, done with toeing the line and wavering with indecision. The idea had come to him late at night and it seemed like a fair enough compromise. If Bucky went, then Steve would follow. Just as he always had and always would. It was a sad fact that beyond the Team and a handful of other people, there wasn’t too much that kept Steve anchored to the Earth. There was already still such a disconnect. Like there was this looming chasm that he continued to feel again and again. That sudden jump from 1945 into the present day. This was something that he never would’ve ever thought to have found himself thinking about before. He cared about everyone he knew, certainly, and would most definitely miss them all, but couldn’t lose Bucky for what felt like the third time.

But before Bucky could form a response, before Steve could try to say anything more. To explain himself and elaborate on his grand idea, the Vanguard-class Titan suddenly activated. Humming back to life as his system’s powered back on and that singular blue eye began to glow brightly across the floor. The eye swiveled upwards and narrowed in on them both as the hissing of hydraulics accompanied the motion of the twenty-foot-tall robot rising up to his full and towering height.

“Please remain here,” RA-5172 announced sternly, turning towards Steve and the outdoors behind him.

“What’s going on, Rome?” Bucky asked, setting the gun part onto the floor and looking like he was going to stand up and go after the Titan. Steve stepped to the side as the robot passed by, turning to watch as RA-5172 took up a post right at the edge of the cargo ramp.

“Captain Lastimosa has ordered me not to tell you,” the Titan said ominously and Steve felt himself instinctually falling into a pre-battle mode of thought. He took a step forward, but both of RA-5172’s metal arms came down in an attempt to block the full spread of the exit. “It is for your own safety that you remain here. The current situation is under control and being handled.”

It seemed as though Bucky was equally worried and alarmed by the announcement, surging up and onto his feet in an instant and coming to stand next to him. “What do you mean by situation? Where’s Rhia?”

“Pilot Lastimosa will be here soon. Until that time please remain within the dropship.”

“Are we under attack? Where’s the rest of the Team?” Steve demanded, slipping into the persona of the Captain as easily as stepping into a different pair of shoes.

“Negative. There is no attack,” the Vanguard-class assured. “The other Avengers should be relocating to safe locations as well.” But no sooner had RA-5172 said this, the Titan was surging out of the dropship, quickly accelerating to his maximum speed over the snow-covered tarmac. Steve and Bucky were both hot on his robotic heels.

Steve then caught sight of Rhia, tearing ass from the main building. Her helmet on her head, the blue flare of her jumpkit at maximum burn on her back and a bright sphere of glowing blue light held in her hands. It was the sphere, he was certain of it, but it looked far different than the last time he had seen it.

This is what was wrong. The sphere was doing something and it was a danger. Rhia was trying to get it away from the Compound. It was the only explanation that made sense.

“Rhia!” Bucky yelled, pushing himself even faster in an attempt to catch up to the Titan. Steve echoed the brunet’s call of the woman’s name on instinct, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t even acknowledge either of them with all of her focus on her Titan.

“Rome! Fastball! High and far! Now!” she screamed, her voice drenched in pain, fear and desperation. With only so far to go until they all would meet up; Steve began to see and smell something horrible. The scent of burning flesh in the air. The jagged and messy splatter of blood that trailed along behind the sprinting blonde woman.

The sphere was hurting her.

He pushed himself faster, momentarily forgetting that Bucky was at his side and keeping pace. Steve had to get to Rhia. He had to help. Get the sphere away from her before she got even more hurt. But with the call of his Pilot’s voice, a thunderous bang and sudden flare of uncomfortable heat and fire emerged from the trio of thruster nozzles on RA-5172’s back. The Titan surged forward in a burst of speed, his metallic feet not even touching the ground as he leapt forward and covered the remaining distance in an instant. His hand was extended outward and with a flare of her jumpkit, Rhia leapt upward into Rome’s palm and perched there in a crouch.

“Rhiannon!” Steve shouted.

“Rhia!” Bucky echoed.

But the woman ignored them both as her Titan turned to face the lake and forest, his mechanical arm cranking back and the other extended outwards to point forward and up into the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw the rest of the Team – all six of them – sprinting around the far corner of the main building and in their direction. But his mind was too busy trying to figure out what was about to happen.

Fastball.

She had said fastball.

A baseball pitch.

A realization and a surge of panic.

She was going to get thrown by her Titan.

And then she was gone before Steve could think of something to say. Something that might’ve made her wait for just a second to explain just what the hell was going on.

“No!” Bucky screamed, dashing forward towards the towering Titan, who was craned backwards to watch humanoid shape and flare of blue light soaring up into the sky. “Why’d you do that?” But the giant robot did not respond.

Steve heard the whine and click of Bucky’s metal arm from underneath his jacket and glanced down to find both of his hands clenched into fists. The dark-haired man’s teeth were grit into a snarl and his face was a storm of anger and fear, either seconds away from breaking into an emotional disaster or trying to fight the Vanguard-class for his answers. But at that point the others had arrived and clustered together and Steve turned to Tony and Bruce to get answers.

“What the hell is going on!” he demanded, but there was apparently no time. Bruce had opened his mouth to speak, but movement and an announcement from the Titan interrupted them.

“Detonation is imminent. Deploying Dome Shield in accordance with Captain Lastimosa’s orders.”

It was going to explode and Rhiannon was still up there with it. Steve looked up into the sky and could only just make out the glowing speck of blue light against the pale gray cloud cover of the winter sky. She was going to die in an effort to save them all. The blonde super-soldier reached out to Bucky, who still stood within arm’s reach, and pulled him closer.

The Titan’s ambient hum ramped up to a higher pitch as it sunk into a crouching position around them all and a canopy of blue light – the Dome Shield, Steve assumed – appeared around them all.

The sky was suddenly alight with light and fire several hundred feet above their heads, but from within the shield they could barely feel anything. Could barely hear anything more than a muffled version of an explosion. Like it was happening several miles away rather than right before their eyes and above their heads. But all that the eight – nine – of them could do is watch in horror as the sphere exploded with whatever energy it had contained and Rhiannon Lastimosa was trapped in the center of it all. The trees in the distance bowed under the sudden shock wave and the powder of snow across the surface of the frozen lake was kicked up into a swirling white storm.

Steve and Bucky found themselves partially in each other’s arms in the midst of the sphere’s explosion. Gripping their arms tightly almost to the point of pain, their mouths partially ajar and eyes wide as they both looked up into the sky for the slightest hint of Rhiannon’s survival. But they saw nothing, even as the azure fire and light began to dissipate.

“Where’s Lastimosa, J.A.R.V.I.S? Did she survive?” Steve heard Stark asking quietly behind him and he glanced over to see the man speaking to his cell phone that was held in a white-knuckled grip.

They all turned, peeling all of their eyes away from the sky, to pay attention as the artificial intelligence gave his answer. An answer they all seemed to dread if the expressions on the others’ faces were to be believed and the metal-armed grip Bucky had on his own tightened substantially.

“She is alive, but injured,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said and there was a collective breath of relief from them all. Alive and injured was far better an answer than Steve had been expecting to receive. “However, the force of the blast has thrown her beyond the perimeter of the Compound and the bracelet was activated. I was unable to counteract the security programming before she was shocked into unconsciousness.” Steve’s heart seized in his chest and he felt the bones in his forearm bending underneath Bucky’s fearful grip as the AI continued. “She is falling.”

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Just like Bucky had.

And with no way to save herself.

A dark speck in the sky caught Steve’s attention and three of them took off with the new knowledge of Rhiannon’s current deadly situation; the Titan and both of the super-soldiers. None of them listened to the calls of their names from behind them. The warnings that Lastimosa was beyond their reach. There was no stopping. Not when there was the slightest chance that they could try to save her.

Somehow. Someway.

But when RA-5172 crashed through the ice of the lake and a wave of frigid water hit Steve and Bucky full in the face, the two were forced to stop even as their boots plunged into the icy shallows. They couldn’t cross the lake. None of them. The ice was too thin to bear their weight – especially the forty tons of Titan – and Steve knew that if he fell through the ice… Even then, with the chill of the water seeping into his socks, he could feel the faintest surge of irrational panic and fear and the slightest tunneling and darkening of his vision. Feelings that had absolutely nothing to do with the potentially lethal impact with the ground that someone he was beginning to care about was currently hurtling towards.

A blur of gold, silver and red flew by in the direction of the falling woman and snagged his attention.

Thor.

In only a matter of seconds the God of Thunder was flying back in their direction, a limp form cradled in his free arm, while the other clutched tightly around Mjölnir. The blonde Asgardian landed with a great deal more grace and gentleness than usual and they all gathered around to see what damage had been done; Steve, Bucky and RA-5172 being the first to arrive.

She was a mess and Steve felt an unexpected urge to gather the woman into his arms and never let go. He saw an aborted reaching motion from Bucky, who apparently had the same desire. Her helmet was scorched and had a crack running diagonally across the x-shaped visor. Her clothes were burned and frayed, though mercifully still mostly intact, though a great deal more skin was exposed than what should have been in the low temperatures.

But it was her arms that were the worst. The skin up to her elbows was open, oozing and charred. Through her skin and into her muscles and almost down to the bone in some places. Steve thought he might be sick, regardless of his usually strong stomach after all of the horrors he had witnessed during World War II.

It was horrifying to see injuries like this. Especially on someone he knew.

“She needs medical attention. Immediately,” the voice of Bruce Banner said gravely. “Super-soldier or not… Fourth-degree burns like this can be life-threatening. We need to get her inside. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there was Chapter 20, folks. The sphere is gone and Rhia is stuck on Earth. Or is she? Regardless, this is a big turning point in the plot. And I apologize if there is a bit of a quality drop in the writing. Hit a bit of an IRL rough patch the other day and I lost some of my motivation to write for a short while, but I tried to persevere for all of you. I won't give up on this story. I refuse to. However, due to the lateness of this chapter's posting, Chapter 21 will likely also be pushed out to Sunday because I try to give myself at least 3 days or so to write and edit. So, just so you all know, story updates will likely be permanently moved to Wednesdays and Sundays for the time being and I might be looking into slowing down to just weekly updates to give myself more time. Don't know yet, but I'll be sure to keep you all informed of my decisions.


	21. Chapter 21

**1348 HOURS | DECEMBER 22, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

The aftermath of the alien sphere’s destruction had been nothing less than chaos.

Banner and Thor had quickly made their way back inside, with both of the super-soldier close behind. Rogers and Barnes both equally unwilling to allow Lastimosa out of their sight for even a single second. It was a promising development, but this was not the time to be congratulating the growing attachment the two had to the blonde woman. No, this was not a time for celebration at all, regardless of the fact that Christmas itself was literally only a couple of days away.

Clint, Natasha and Sam had followed after Steve and Barnes, while Stark had lingered behind to talk to the Titan about what had gone wrong and how this had happened. The archer had glanced down at the ground and seem the droplets of blood that splattered the path they took back into the main building. Lastimosa’s blood. He had looked up into the face of his friend with a grimace at the sight and saw that the red-haired woman looked about as disturbed and concerned as she ever had before.

If that wasn’t an indicator that things had gone horribly awry then he didn’t know what was.

It was a mercy that the Titan Pilot remained unconscious for the entirety of the short walk to the wing of the building that was meant to function as a medical bay. After unlocking the door and waving Thor through, Banner had placed himself in the door frame to block the way. The mild-mannered scientist was quick to forbid the two agitated super-soldiers from entering. He knew that they were only going to hover and worry and that was not what he needed in the room while he tried to save Lastimosa. It was the two spies that Banner brought into the room to act as medical assistants, while the Asgardian and Wilson were left in the hall to babysit Rogers and Barnes.

To hopefully prevent either of them from doing anything foolish.

Clint would admit that he had never seen burns as bad as Lastimosa’s up close and he would readily admit that he would consider himself fortunate to never see their like again. Bruce did what he could with their help. Removing her helmet, jumpkit harness, boots, jeans and t-shirt. Setting the pieces of technology off to the side and throwing away the destroyed pieces of clothing. Flushing the wounds to get them clean, clearing away the dead and damaged tissue, before hooking up an IV for fluids to keep the woman hydrated. But in the same vein, even as they worked, Banner wondered about the necessity of skin grafts in contrast with trying to allow the Pilot’s nanite-induced healing factor to take care of the critical damage on its own. Would she need pain medication to take the edge off as the nerves grew back? Would they need to keep her knocked out or should they allow her to wake up on her own? An endless stream of mumbled questions that Clint just didn’t have any answers for.

At that point in time, they had done all they could for the injured woman lying on the gurney, covered with the light sheet for modesty with her burns wrapped in loose gauze and bandages.

But at one point, while Natasha had been sent back to Lastimosa’s apartment to get a clean pair of clothes, there was what sounded like a brief scuffle outside of the door. Clint had gone to investigate, but before he had even been able to get there Barnes and Rogers both came charging in with their arms full. Barnes with a fairly large, mossy green bag slung over one of his shoulders, emblazoned on the front pouch with the stereotypical crimson cross, and Steve with a smaller black plastic case in his hands.

Wilson and Thor had peered in guiltily, having failed in doing their one job to keep the soldiers out.

The former Winter Soldier all but forced the bag of supplies, taken from the dropship and containing all the combat medical advancements of Lastimosa’s future reality, into Banner’s arms. The case, in turn, contained dozens of auto-injection syringes. Every single one of them filled with a full dosage of the miraculous Pilot Stimulant, which when applied would result in super-charging Lastimosa’s nanites and therefore enhancing her rate of healing even further than it already was naturally.

It was due to those two unexpected things that Lastimosa was allowed to discharge herself from the medical bay by the morning of the next day. Her arms had healed to the point where hospitalization was no longer necessary. The blonde was still bandaged up to her elbows, but in those miraculous hours her burns had gone from fourth-degree to just a particularly bad second-degree. And yet, since her release the woman had made herself scarce. Or rather she had vanished into thin air.

Clint wasn’t actually surprised. Stark and Banner had announced to the Team, after informing Lastimosa, that the sphere had been completely destroyed in the explosion. The Titan Pilot was stuck on Earth now, unless some other sort of miraculous, reality and time traveling object revealed itself. Which, Barton had idly thought at the time, wasn’t actually horribly unlikely. But still…

The woman wouldn’t be going anywhere for the foreseeable future and no one had seen her since yesterday morning. Not at meals. Not walking in the halls. Not even in the gym.

There were only the assurances of J.A.R.V.I.S. and the tracking bracelet, which somehow had survived the explosion, to let them know that she was still within the Compound’s perimeter.

In a last desperate hope, without actually going and actively seeking her out, the archer and Natasha had lingered in the shared kitchen to see if Lastimosa would appear out of the woodwork. It was well after the lunch hour and there had been no signs of the female super-soldier. The two understood that she needed time to come to terms with her new circumstances. To mourn and grieve for those she was now unlikely to ever see again. Friends and family and such. But nearly thirty hours without having been seen by anyone? Not even Barnes, who had been in a foul mood since the sphere’s explosion.

That was getting excessive and potentially unhealthy.

Physically, mentally and emotionally.

“We’ve got to do something,” Natasha commented, leaning on one elbow at the kitchen’s island and poking at the remnants of her lunch with a fork. “This can’t continue.”

Clint hummed in agreement. “But what can we do? She deserves time to grieve in her own way.”

“Grieving is one thing. Self-isolation of this degree is another. She needs to talk to someone.”

“I know, Nat. I know that, but she clearly doesn’t want to. Why else would she be hiding wherever it is she has been. She doesn’t want to be found. Doesn’t want to talk.”

“At this point it doesn’t matter what she wants,” the red-haired woman said. “It’s what she needs. If I thought Stark would let me, I’d get a psychiatrist in here. Lastimosa needs one. And Barnes.” His friend’s grip on the fork tightening to point where her knuckles turned white from blood loss. “Hell, we probably ought to hire a whole group of shrinks for each and every one of us.”

“Probably,” Clint agreed as he took a moment to take a sip from his drink. “But, because we all agreed to keep Lastimosa and Barnes a secret from the rest of the world, we can’t do that.”

“Then what are we left with?” she asked.

“Not Stark or Banner. They’re too close to the incident and she may irrationally think they’re partially responsible for it.” Barton paused before saying thoughtfully, “Though, Bruce is arguably the closest thing we have to a therapist right now.”

“How about Thor?”

“I don’t know... But what about Wilson? He did all of those sessions and talks at the VA in D.C., right? Still does, I think. You know, when he has the time. That’s sort of what Lastimosa might need right now.”

“Steve and Barnes,” Natasha suggested with a completely serious expression.

“Nat, this isn’t the time to be playing matchmaker,” Clint argued. “Lastimosa needs help. Actual help. Not two more people that are just like her and dealing with all of the same sort of problems.”

“That’s the point,” she emphasized. “Who gets it more than they do? Rogers has lost nearly everyone he’s ever known or cared about when he was in the ice. Barnes is in the same boat. And arguably, Steve is likely to be the best choice without a professional on hand. And you know that Barnes is going to want to be there anyways.”

“Tasha…”

“You saw the way they both were out on the tarmac during and after the explosion,” she continued to argue. She definitely wasn’t going to let this go. Like a dog with a bone in its mouth and there was no way that Clint was stupid enough to try and pry it out of those teeth. “You know they were pacing in the hallway during the time we were dealing with those burns. The fear and panic on both of their faces. Who better to bring Lastimosa out of her shell than arguably the two people who seem to care about her the most on this planet? It isn’t any of the rest of us, even though we all are beginning to consider her as a friend. She needs to anchor herself to this reality now that she’s stuck here and those two… They are going to be that anchor for her. I guarantee it.”

He saw her point and ultimately agreed with it. There wasn’t any reason for him to argue.

“Then let’s go and find them,” he suggested, standing up from his chair and going to put his unfinished drink back in the fridge for later. Natasha dealt with her dishes and asked J.A.R.V.I.S. where they would find both of the other super-soldiers. The pair had both made an appearance during lunch. Steve had lingered for a while and tried to be social, even when Clint could tell that the Captain had a million other things on his mind at the time. The archer would have bet a substantial amount of money on guessing that the top two things were his fellow super-soldiers.

But in contrast, the metal-armed assassin had just grabbed his food and left with a mumble of thanks.

The British accented AI informed them that their quarries were in their respective rooms and the spies split up in the hall. Romanoff going off to speak with Rogers and Barton was off to convince Barnes. As frightening as the man was, Clint didn’t actually think it would take much effort on his part to have him get up and go to speak with Lastimosa. Not with the connection that the two had and the affection that the brown-haired man most definitely had for her.

He entered the room tentatively, the door unlocked by J.A.R.V.I.S. who seemed to be supporting their plans from the background, and found a mess in the front living room and the man in question slumped on the couch. The empty containers of his lunch spread out across the coffee table and a book lying open across his bent legs, but his eyes staring sightlessly up towards the ceiling instead of at the words on the page.

“Hey, Barnes. You okay?” he asked, drawing the attention of those gray-blue eyes. “Gunna need your help with something, if you’re feeling up to it.”

* * *

Bucky hadn’t even heard the door open. That was bad for someone like him. To be so unaware of his surroundings to let another person enter the room without him even realizing it. But there was just so much on his mind right now. Too many things and all of them equally horrible and distressing to point where he was actually trying to not think about any of it.

He barely had an appetite, no matter how much his body demanded that he feed it. He ate when he needed to, but every bite was forced. He hadn’t slept the previous night. His mind had refused to be quiet. It had been thinking about her and worrying endlessly and remembering the explosion and every moment leading up to it. Imagining all of the things that could’ve gone wrong. Not conducive to sleeping and his fear of having a nightmare – a memory or something new – was too great to ignore.

Rhiannon could’ve died right then and there and he wouldn’t have been able to do anything. It was only due to pure luck and the flying Asgardian that she had managed to survive at all.

It had been petrifying to see from underneath the relative safety of the Dome Shield.

Watching her be thrown by Rome. Watching the sphere detonate in the sky. Watching her fall, rendered unconscious and seriously injured. Seeing all of the char and blistering on her arms and hands. Her skin melted away and the muscles and bone beneath exposed to the air. Her blood speckling the snow in a gruesome trail of crimson.

Yes. He would’ve dreamt of it all. Again and again and again. With more and more horrific endings each and every time. All of them ending with her death.

But what did Barton want? Why couldn’t he just be left alone?

“What?” he asked in a voice raspy from disuse.

“Need your help,” the archer said as he came to a stop nearby, lingering near one of the armchairs with a fairly serious expression on his face.

“Heard you. With what?” Bucky would at least hear him out.

“Lastimosa.”

It wasn’t what he expected to hear from Clint. A spike of worry, which had been all but constant since the day before yesterday, had his gut tying itself back into knots. “Why?” he asked.

“No one’s seen her since she was let out of medical yesterday.” That didn’t make Bucky feel any better. He’d tried to find Rhia on several occasions. Even in the middle of the night after he’d determined that sleep just wasn’t going to be happening. But he hadn’t been able to find her. He was fairly certain that she was using her cloaking technology to get around without being seen. Though, in hindsight, he had realized that asking Stark’s AI would’ve been the simplest way. Rhia still wore her bracelet. “And now isn’t really a good time for her to be left alone. Not with what she’d going through.”

No, it wasn’t. She was hurting in every way there was to be in pain.

“She doesn’t want to talk,” he said. A painful thing to admit, but an honest one. He had seen her once after being released from the medical bay, after learning from Banner and Stark that there was now no way for her to return home. She had looked like some of the guys he’d seen during the World War. That empty-eyed stare. The perfect image of shell-shock. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

“What she wants doesn’t matter anymore,” the archer argued vehemently. Stepping closer to place his hands on the chair and lean forward and against it. “It’s what she needs, even if she doesn’t know it. She needs help. Lastimosa’s been there for you all this time. Now it’s your turn to be there for her.”

Bucky sat up from his semi-reclined position on the couch, placing his socked feet on the carpet and turning to face the sandy-haired man fully. “What do you want me to do? She doesn’t want to be found. I know. I tried to last night. Searched this whole fucking place, Barton.”

The other man frowned. “Didn’t think you’d give up so soon, Barnes.” He glanced off through the far wall. “Hope Romanoff had better luck with Steve then. Maybe he’ll be able to find her and help her.”

“Steve?”

“Yeah,” Clint said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Who else to offer comfort, support and motivation to keep going than someone like Steve? With his background – both of your backgrounds – you can both understand better than anyone else what she’s going through. Losing that much so suddenly.”

He saw what the archer was doing. Playing up a bit of a guilt trip to get him up and off of his ass. But it was working and he would admit that he needed it. Barton was right. Rhia did need him. He could remember all of the times when he had been difficult and she had persevered to keep helping him. How could not do the same for her? Just one night of Rhia hiding herself from him to lick her still bleeding wounds – physical and emotional – and he’d thrown in the towel?

He stood, no longer paying any attention to the other man in the room and made him way into his bedroom to grab a sweatshirt and his winter gear. Bucky would bet more than anything that Rhia had sequestered herself somewhere in the dropship. Somewhere. Somehow. He had checked the ship during the night, but hadn’t found anything but RA-5172 in his low-power mode. But where else would she be but in the closest thing she now had to home?

Her Vanguard-class Titan and the Raven-class Heavy Dropship. The only things that still carried only the Frontier in every molecule of their being. The only things not made in this reality. Not of this Earth.

Walking out into the hall, with the archer just behind him, he saw that Romanoff and Steve were already there and the blond was dressed for the weather as well. Well so much for handling this by himself. Bucky knew that Steve, once involved, wouldn’t back out even if he asked. And yet, there was a question burning his mind as he turned and began to make his way towards the nearest exit to the building. Steve would follow and the two spies would go off to do whatever it was that they did.

At the door Bucky stopped before pushing it open, turning to look back at Steve. “Why are you doing this, Steve,” he asked. “You don’t have to. I can handle Rhia by myself.”

“I know, Buck,” Steve admitted. “But Rhiannon’s important to you, so she’s important to me. I’d like to think that we’re friends by now. And right now, more than ever before, she needs people in her corner. And Natasha explained to me, there’s no one else that can understand her situation more than we can.”

So, the Widow had used the same line as Barton had, huh?

Didn’t make it any less true, however.

And if he was going to be honest, confronting a most likely distraught and emotional Rhia with Steve at his back felt a whole hell of a lot more doable than it had before. His mind was still a mess and his own emotions were as fragile as wet paper. All of that rage, sadness and all of the inescapable fear and panic on a hair-trigger. Just waiting for something – the tiniest little thing – to set him off. Seeing Rhiannon – a woman usually so strong and unwavering – enraged, or more likely in tears… It would be awful.

But Bucky didn’t feel confident enough or comfortable enough to admit all of that to Steve. Not yet. Not when there was still so much distance between them, mostly due to his own reluctance and guilt. So, he just nodded his head sharply and turned back to open the door into the frigid winter weather. It wasn’t a can of worms that he wanted to open right then. Or really ever.

Rhia had to be the focus.

As they both trod through the snow, still churned and disturbed from the other day, Bucky couldn’t help but glance up towards the cloud-covered sky. He half expected there to still be a radiant blue fireball hanging there. But it was perfectly normal looking and he idly wondered what sort of excuse Stark or even Steve had made to cover up the incident. There was no way that the sphere’s detonation had gone unnoticed by the surrounding populace. The area might’ve been rural, but it wasn’t uninhabited.

The dropship’s cargo door was once again open, but it didn’t mean much. The door had been open during the night as well. Rhia had explained once that the majority of the technology had been proofed against the temperature of space, which meant that the cold of winter wouldn’t damage anything.

But as they entered there was only one occupant of the bay. The usual one. RA-5172, crouching and with his eye only emitting the dimmest of light. But Rhia had to be here somewhere. She had to be.

“I’ll check the upper deck,” he said quietly to Steve, gesturing up with one of his gloved thumbs. “You can go and look around here and in the troop bays. I think she’s been using cloak to get around without being seen. So, make sure to feel around too even if you don’t see anything.”

Before they could go their separate ways there was a muffled beep from one of Steve’s jacket pockets.

“Searching is unnecessary, Sergeant Barnes,” Stark’s AI announced from Steve’s cell phone. “Captain Lastimosa is right in front of you. I reached out to RA-5172 for information, as I should have from the start. He too is concerned for the health of his Pilot and is welcoming of your offered assistance.”

His eyes widened in realization as he quickly turned and looked back to the idling Vanguard-class Titan. “She’s in the cockpit, isn’t she?”

He should’ve known.

Dammit!

“Yes. Unbeknownst to the rest of us, she has been attempting to reconstruct something known as a Simulation Pod with the technology available to her. In the early of hours of the morning, she completed this project and is currently… How shall I put this? Taking out her frustrations within the simulation.”

“Can the simulation be stopped?” Steve asked with concern. “We need to talk to her.”

“RA-5172 says that the sudden shut down of an active simulation can result in adverse side-effects such as dizziness, nausea, headache and fainting spells.”

“Then we have to wait,” Bucky growled with intense dislike and impatience. She shouldn’t have been doing this. Not in her state of mind or her physical condition. And it was for that very same reason that he couldn’t just pry open the doors to the cockpit and pull her out.

Steve huffed a heavy sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “Seems so. I don’t like it, though,” he said. “J.A.R.V.I.S, just how long has Rhiannon been in there?”

“Nearly two hours. She is currently beginning her seventh combat simulation,” the AI said. “If wish to see for yourselves, RA-5172 is willing to broadcast the footage onto one of the large display monitors mounted to the walls in either of the two deployment bays.” There was a brief pause before he went on. “He has also said that after this particular match he will insist that the Captain take a break to provide you both with an opportunity to speak with her.”

“Good. Thanks, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Steve said as he began to make his way past the crouched Titan, but Bucky lingered behind. Tentatively he raised a hand, rising up slightly on the balls of his feet, and laid it against the seal between the two doors of the Vanguard’s cockpit. Just beyond his palm was Rhia, but she didn’t even know he was there. His fingers trailed against the metal as he walked by, following after Steve. He was actually worried about what they were about to see in the simulation.

Just what was she doing? What was she fighting against?

The screen was alright alight with activity and color and Bucky could see that Steve was enthralled with the vivid images being shown. It looked like some sort of city. Or rather a fragment of a city, sectioned off from the rest with high dome of orange light, which had then had some aspects of what looked like a military base of some sort thrown into the mix. Some walls and sections of the ground were black and white, pristine with futuristic looking lines and glowing areas of blue and orange. Others sections were dim and grungy; littered with trash, shipping containers and military vehicles.

There were dozens of troops on the ground, dressed in white uniforms, armed and patrolling in groups of six. From their eye in the sky, the pair of super-soldiers watched in avid silence as the teams dashed from point to point, scanning their surroundings, checking their corners and glancing nervously up into the sky.

_“Enemy Pilot spotted!”_

A flash of black and orange swept across the screen, faster than even their eyes could track, and one of the fireteams that was furthest along the bizarre amalgam of road vanished in a ball of fire. For the briefest of second there had been a satchel charge on the screen before it had detonated in their midst. With every passing second another squad was wiped out. And yet, they never saw a clear image of Rhia. She was always moving. So fast and precise. A blur of color flying by. Hunting and killing.

Soon the remaining soldiers, fake as they might have been, were given their reinforcements. Human-sized robots, both white and red in color, and a massive swarm of little insect-like drones with spindly legs and a red cylindrical body. On the screen they were labeled as Spectres, Stalkers and Ticks. And yet, more and more forces were deployed into the simulation. Larger robots – called Reapers – which shot endless streams of missiles from their arms. Ordinance rained down on the enemies as they finally caught sight of Rhiannon, running along the glowing walls with a six-shot grenade launcher in her hands. Unloading the rotary magazine into the masses before grappling away and dropping satchel charges in her wake.

“It says a lot that, as upset as she should be, she can still fight like this,” Steve commented after Rhia adhered a satchel to the back of a Reaper and detonated it as she swung away.

He agreed, but didn’t like it. “She still shouldn’t be pushing herself like this.”

And then a Titan dropped down onto the field with a clap of sound, which was loud even through the screen’s speakers. It wasn’t a Vanguard-class like Rome. The body bulky and covered in thick black and orange armor, with a central eye with many glowing blue lenses and a ridiculously large single-barreled weapon – the T-203 Thermite Launcher, which was also painted black – in its four-fingered hands. An image of a trio of snarling dog heads on a backdrop of flames decorated the door to the cockpit. They watched as Rhia leapt down from the tower she had been perched atop and entered the machine.

The screen sudden swam with fire and the battlefield reduced to nothing more than scorched earth.

The simulated soldiers fled from the Titan-shaped inferno.

Bucky glanced over towards Steve and saw him torn between worry and horror at the brutal massacre being displayed on the screen. Neither of them had ever seen Rhia being this violent before, even at the HYDRA Base she hadn’t been nearly this savage. But she was running on her emotions now. Not her knowledge of tactics or strategy or any other sort of intelligent thought. Just her instincts and all of her experience driven along by the power of her wrath.

“You can’t judge her for this, Steve,” Bucky urged as he sidled closer to the slightly taller blond. “This is the only way she could think to cope.”

“Violence isn’t the answer,” Steve murmured. “Not like this.”

Bucky felt a spark of anger flare in his chest. “Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tell me that when you first came out of the ice that you didn’t spend countless hours in a gym beating on heavy bags to vent until you couldn’t even lift your arms. That you didn’t run and run and run until you were too tired to think.” He pointed to the screen. “This is her version of that. It’s a simulation. She’s not killing anyone. She’s just getting it all out so that she doesn’t take it out on someone else.”

In attempt to temper that rage or diminish its potency, a handful of Titans began to drop onto the field. Built far slimmer and faster than Rhiannon’s current Titan, with Leadwall Shotguns and Broadswords as their armaments. Rhia was forced to back away under their charge, drawing the rushing machines into narrow hallways and tight corners to drop what looked like canisters of flammable gas that a shot from the launcher set alight. Boxing them in with walls of burning thermite and that shield of fire shot from the Titan’s splayed left hand.

Two Titans down, but Rhia’s had taken some damage while still more enemies continued to drop from the sky. Two more different looking Titans joined the first group. Both heavily built with rotary cannons in their hands. They all pushed in on her position, raining down a hail of bullet from behind gun shields and being swamped again and again with waves of electricity.

One of the heavies and another of the slam variant were destroyed as she dodged from cover to cover, using the environment to block their lines of sight. But under the onslaught, Rhia’s fiery Titan entered what Bucky knew to be called the Doom State. In a last-ditch effort, she rushed the grouping, engulfing the ground in fire and thermite as she charged before ejecting. The large Titan whined and a faint white light began to emanate before it exploded with tremendous force. A nuclear detonation that destroyed everything nearby.

The screen faded to dark while Rhia was still in the air and moment of truth was upon them.

Bucky turned and was on his way out of the room well before Steve, though the blond was quick to follow, hearing the hissing of the cockpit’s decompression before it swung open. Rhia leapt out and dropped down onto the floor, dressed from head to toe in all of her piloting equipment, with a clunk of her heavy boots on the metal plating. But while every fiber of his being screamed at him to rush over, something else told him to hang back and watch what she would do. Gauging her volatility.

Steve tried to move past, but Bucky grabbed his shoulder with his metal arm to hold him back.

And it was a good thing they had slowed their approach. Still unaware of their presence, the blonde woman ripped off her helmet and chucked it at the wall with a hoarse shout of both rage and pain. It was only then, with her bandage covered hands buried into the mess of her hair as she spun around and began to pace back and forth, that Rhia took notice of their presence less than ten feet away. What neither had expected was for her to level the point of a knife and the barrel of a pistol at their heads.

Where had she gotten weapons?

All four of their hands flew up into the universal sign of surrender, but Bucky took the time to take in Rhia’s appearance. There was an unexpected sallowness to her usual warm bronze of her skin tone. An unnatural and unhealthy-looking pallor that had definitely not been there two days ago. Her lips pulled thin and down into a heavy frown, brows furrowed and deep, dark shadows under her ever so slightly swollen and red-rimmed eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” she demanded, her voice loud and enraged even as she relaxed her hold on the knife and gun after realizing that it was just them. “Don’t you think that after what just happened that I might like to be left alone!”

“But you shouldn’t be,” Steve said, his voice gentle in attempt to sooth her obviously frayed nerves. “We were alone when this sort of things happened to us and it didn’t help at all.”

Her lips drew back into a fearsome snarl. “Fuck off, Steve. I don’t need or want your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Rhia. It’s sympathy,” Bucky interrupted sternly. “You’re hurting and we get it, but don’t take it out on us. We’re just here to help you. Just like you’ve been helping me all this time.”

“I don’t want your help,” she hissed.

Steve took the opportunity to sidle closer. “But you need it. Even if you don’t want to admit it. Just like how I doubt Bucky wanted to admit that he needed your help, but accepted it anyways.”

But her rage was still going strong. “I lost everything less than forty-eight hours ago!” she yelled. “What part of that do you not get? The Frontier? Gone. The Militia? Gone. My friends? Gone! All I have left is my Titan and this ship.” She drew in shuddering breath of air, her anger seeming to be well on it way to transitioning into tears. Bucky desperately did not want to see Rhia cry, but it seemed as though his wish would go ungranted as a single tear escaped without her knowledge. “So, why don’t you guys just leave and let me deal with this on my own?”

“No.”

“No.”

Both men denied her in the same moment, with Steve shaking his head and Bucky taking a step forward when he saw the faintest quiver and shake in one of her knees. If she had been working on this project for this long, only hiding when he had shown up during the night, he doubted that she had taken a break to eat or drink anything. She was running on fumes at this point.

“We’re not going to leave you, Rhia,” he said without giving her any chance to argue.

“Not when you need someone with you,” Steve said to finish the thought.

She opened her mouth to protest, but at that point the knee that he had seen weaken earlier gave out. By chance, both he and Steve were lunging forward to catch one of her arms – careful to avoid the lower regions that were still covered in burns – before she fell and all three ended up sitting on the floor in such a similar fashion as they had during his nightmare. Rhia knelt there, her head tilted down towards her knees and her face curtained from view by the hair that had escaped from containment.

On the next inhale, Bucky couldn’t help but noticed the scent of salt water in the air.

So, she was crying after all and as predicted he didn’t like it one bit.

Steve took the opportunity to gently pry the weapons from her slackened grip and set them off to the side, but couldn’t help but ask her softly, “Where did you get these?”

“SERE Kit,” Rhia supplied with a sniffle as she freed one of her arms from their loosened grip. “Part of the standard loadout for every Vanguard-class Titan. Holdout weapons to be used as a last resort in case of capture by the enemy.” She rubbed at her eyes, taking a deep breath before she tilted her head back to stare up at the looming form of her Titan, who had remained silent for some reason. But even then, as Bucky chanced a glance upwards, the singular blue eye was focused on their gathering. “I just… I don’t know what we’re going to do now. The mission was to get home and now… Now there’s no more home. No more mission to focus on.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to give up. Doesn’t mean that you can’t try and start again,” Steve urged softly. “Just because you’ve lost so much doesn’t mean that you have nothing. As you’ve said, you’ve still got your Titan. You’ve got Buck and me. Tony, Bruce, Thor, Sam, Natasha and Clint. And even J.A.R.V.I.S. We’re all here for you. Whenever you need us.”

At that moment Rhiannon’s stomach chose to growl loudly and she wrapped an arm around her armor-covered abdomen with a wry smile even through her tears.

“How about you take a break and come back inside? Put something comfortable on, get some food and something to drink and the three of us just watch some movies for the rest of the afternoon?” Steve looked up at Bucky with a question for approval in his eyes and he nodded subtly to approve of the idea. If nothing else they needed to make sure that Rhia ate and drank something, especially because of her still injured arms. She needed the energy to finish healing.

She nodded slowly, without the energy to keep arguing and seeming willing to allow them to take care of her for the time being.

Under the keen eyes of her protective metallic shadow, the two bundled the woman up from the floor, with Steve taking a brief moment to tuck the knife and handgun away on his person. Having fallen silent after her last outburst, they walked her out of the ship and back into the building on a direct course for Rhia’s apartment. Less than half an hour later the trio had made themselves comfortable on the couch and the opening lines of a light-hearted, animated children’s movie – chosen at random – flooded the living room.

Rhia sat in the middle with a warm mug of tea in one hand – courtesy of a particularly apologetic Bruce Banner – and a plate piled high with reheated leftovers from lunch balanced on a pillow in her lap.

_“Where is my little birthday girl, hm? I'm going to gobble her up when I find her. Oh! I'm going to eat you. I am. Och! Fergus, no weapons on the table.”_

_“Can I shoot an arrow? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Please? Can I?”_

Before the movie about a Scottish princess and bears was even halfway done, the blonde woman was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because real men watch Disney movies without being embarrassed about it. And yes, it's Brave, which is arguably one of my favorite modern Disney films of the princess variety. So, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter. Rhia's going through a bit of rough time (understatement of the century) but the boys are there for her. Not quite on Sunday like I had said, at least where I am, but I like to try and catch the weekend crowd with my postings. Also, fun fact that I literally just found out entirely by chance, since I posted this on June 13th I actually managed to post on Chris Evans' birthday so... Happy Accident!
> 
> Glossary of Acronym Explanations: (just in case)  
> SERE Kit = Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape Kit (which in the TF Universe consists of a Data Knife and a Smart Pistol, usually taken along with the AI Core of their Titan)


	22. Chapter 22

**0722 HOURS | DECEMBER 25, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

It was turning out to be a quiet Christmas, which was something that Natasha wasn’t going to question. She had planned to fully enjoy the peace and silence granted by being only one of four people at the Compound for the next week.

Everyone that had plans for the holidays – both Christmas and New Year’s – had left at some point on the 23rd. Stark and Banner had driven down to the city together, just after lunch. Wilson had left earlier that morning to head into New York City as well, joining a larger portion of his family who apparently lived in Harlem. Thor had flown off shortly afterwards with plans to join both Doctor Selvig and Doctor Foster for his first Christmas celebrations on Earth. And Clint had departed with his usual shoddy excuse of paying a visit to some distant relatives in the Midwest. But she knew where he had gone and had made sure to slip the gifts she had bought into his luggage when his back had been turned.

And that was how she had found herself with the three super-soldiers and the two artificial intelligences for company. Though, admittedly J.A.R.V.I.S. and Lastimosa’s Titan kept to themselves unless necessary.

Another remarkable and incredibly welcome occurrence was that HYDRA and any other enemies that the Avengers might have been called upon to combat had chosen to stay well under the radar. Since the destruction of the base in the mountains there had been no traces of HYDRA that they could find, even with the information given to them by both Barnes and Lastimosa. And yet, there were some promising leads that there were plans to implement after the holidays.

An attempt at poking the nest to draw out the bees hiding inside.

But for the time being there were only the comparably domestic sort of problems to deal with.

Lastimosa was in a rough state, but seemed to be coping well enough. Or so Natasha could only assume without actually having spoken at length with the blonde woman beyond the bounds of small-talk. The Titan Pilot was understandably angry and saddened by prior events and her new situation, it seemed as though Rogers and Barnes had come through when they were needed. Where Rhiannon went one of them was sure to follow, sometimes overtly and other times covertly. Though, Natasha was more than certain that the woman was more than aware about the hovering men that trailed in her wake.

It was a promising step in the overall matchmaking goals that Natasha and Clint had put into motion. All of the increased socialization that was now happening between the trio. Eating their meals together. Watching television and movies together. Even just relaxing in each other’s presence.

On one occasion Natasha had even spotted Lastimosa and Barnes reading on the couch in the shared living room and Steve sketching in a nearby chair. A stealthy circumference of the room and a peek over Rogers’ shoulders had earned her a glimpse of his graphite rendition of the pair on the couch. But all of that was currently it was far from a priority. There would be no pushing them along for a while now.

A break was needed after the emotional upheaval that the alien sphere had caused.

However, she wouldn’t deny that the holiday spirit might just foster a stronger connection, but she was willing to allow it to happen naturally.

The events of Christmas Eve had been subdued, but far from negative. They had all enjoyed a meal of Chinese take-out split amongst them, with the majority of the food disappearing into the bottomless pits that Rogers and Barnes’ had instead of stomachs. Followed by an obligatory viewing of Christmas movie marathon classics, both old and new, and the opening of a single present chosen at random.

Barnes and Lastimosa had been more than surprised to find themselves the recipients of their own presents. Both of them took the boxes that she handed to them with nothing more than confusion on their faces.

Steve’s present had been a new vinyl record to add to his growing collection from Sam. The other two super-soldiers had received the latest and greatest of Stark Industries’ smart phones and tablets, along with the same sort of all expenses paid phone plan that the rest of the Team had been given. Stark did like to spoil them all with all of the best tech. And Natasha, courtesy of Clint, had received a new set of throwing knives. Sleek, matte black and fresh off of one of the black-market merchants and information brokers they both still had friendly dealings with.

But the night had come and gone and now it was bright and early on Christmas morning. Natasha had just entered the shared living space, shuffling towards the kitchen in search of some very much-needed caffeine. But what she had not expected to find was a very busy blonde Pilot hard at work cooking and a sleep-mused looking Barnes sipping from his own mug. The delightful scent of cooking food and freshly brewed coffee was heavy in the air and was a near-heavenly experience.

* * *

Rhiannon had woken that Thursday morning – Christmas Day – feeling unexpectedly better than she had since the upset of the previous Friday. That is not to say that she was not still suffering from moments of shock. Random moments where she just had to stop and sit and calm her breathing down. Minutes where she couldn’t help but think that this must be a dream. To deny the truth. Nothing more than a nightmare cooked up by her wild mind. That what had happened couldn’t have possibly actually taken place. To bargain and cling to the feeble hope that somehow and someway she could still manage to find her was home.

But ultimately the truth, every single time, would come back and dropkick her in the throat.

The transitions between rage and sadness were getting old, but the wounds were still too fresh for the emotional upheaval to calm itself. In comparison, her actual injuries – those horribly burns on her hands and the undersides of her forearms – were long gone now. Nothing left but tender, newly grown skin – without an ounce of scarring – and the faintest hints of a residual ache that happened to crop up when she used them for too long. But worst of all, and as petty and inconsequential as it might’ve seemed, was the damage that had been done to her tattoos. While the physical parts of her body had healed well, the ink of her body art was slow to return to its normal appearance.

An addendum made during her final regeneration process. Her personal brand of nanites were specially programmed to restore not just her body, but her ink as well. It had been hypothetical technology on their part, but she had been adamant on the stipulation before submitting to the surgery. Rhia had been quite thoroughly sick of having to go and find a tattoo artist, with copious numbers of physical images for referencing, and having to get all of her designs done again and again.

It had cost her so many credits to keep having her ink fixed and restored after every grievous injury, but apparently the Advocate liked her enough – or at least valued her enough - to grant her wish. So, every once in a while, she would look down at her arms and watch as the lines came back, bit by bit, getting ever so slightly darker with every passing day.

She would not deny that having Steve and Barnes shadowing her for most of the day, both hidden and seen she knew, had been a comfort. Those first few days it had been grating whenever she noticed them hovering nearby. The desire to turn and tell them to leave her alone. To let her wallow in her grief in solitude without either of them seeing her that way.

Rhia didn’t want them to see her cry. Didn’t want them around for those moments when she would just sit in Rome’s cockpit and do nothing more than weep and sob until she couldn’t breathe or ended up falling asleep. Watching recordings that she had of the good times. Before all of this. Card games with all of her friends in a Militia carrier’s Titan Bay. Shenanigans in simulations with those very same ridiculous people. Competitions to see which of them could grapple around the map the fastest. Bets about who could make the most ridiculous and impossible trick shots with the dumbest loadouts.

Seeing her dad again. Seeing Jack and BT.

She didn’t want either of them to see her like that.

However, with the slow passage of time, she had gotten used to her tall, muscular shadows. Regardless of the fact that she still thought it was mostly unnecessary. Barnes ought to have be focusing on his own recovery and Rogers definitely still had his own responsibilities to attend to. He was Captain America, the leader of the Avengers, and there was no way he didn’t have more important things to do.

But all of the books that had been read, the TV and movies watched and the therapeutic release of an intense workout – all at their insistence – had been welcomed. While Barnes didn’t push, Steve had often tentatively extended an invitation for her to talk about what she was thinking. About her thoughts and feelings, but she wasn’t ready for that yet. Ultimately, she knew that the current goal was to come to terms with living out her remaining years on this alternate Earth.

And who knew how long that would take.

Even eating their meals together, sometimes with other members of the Team, had been pleasant.

It was the thought of those shared meals, in combination with the realization that having no gift to give on Christmas was just unacceptable, that had her in the kitchen before anyone else with her brown-haired shadow in tow. She would make the four of them breakfast as her attempt at a decent present. Coffee brewed, courtesy of her metal-armed companion, as she rummaged through the cabinets for ingredients with which to make her morning meal.

With a word from J.A.R.V.I.S. that both Steve and Natasha were awake, she began to cook. Even Barnes sitting nearby vanished from her mind as she dove into her task. Preparing pancakes with a medley of berries tossed into the batter, scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, crispy bacon and fried potatoes mixed with tomatoes and bell peppers. The act of cooking felt good. Just as therapeutic and distracting as going to the gym had been.

Was this why some people baked when they were stressed?

Rhia reached out to flip one of the pancakes and took note of the moment that Romanoff walked in. She heard as the red-haired woman took a deep inhale on her way to the coffee maker and the gusty sigh of satisfaction that came after her first sip. Natasha, instead of taking a seat, sidled up nearby and looked over the delicious, controlled chaos Rhiannon was minding on the stove top.

“This looks good,” she commented.

“Thanks. Figured this would have to do since I wasn’t able to get anyone gifts,” the blonde explained with a shrug of her shoulders.

The red-head hummed thoughtfully. “Not necessary, but it’s definitely appreciated. Haven’t seen a good meal like this in a while. Home-cooked is always so much better than take-out.” Natasha nodded her head at the skin exposed by the scrunched-up sleeves of Rhia’s sweatshirt, in particular her now bare right wrist. “Glad to have the bracelet finally off?”

A parting gift from Stark before he had left for New York City with Banner.

No more tracking and no more being restricted to the Compound.

She could leave, if she wanted to.

“Sort of,” she admitted, mixing the eggs and melting cheese together and stirring the frying vegetables to prevent them from burning. “But to be honest, I actually got used to it being there. Feels weird to not be wearing it anymore.”

It was at that point Steve finally wandered in and Rhiannon glanced over her shoulder with narrowed eyes when he immediately tried to approach her. She knew that he was going to try and offer to help. Saying that she didn’t need to be cooking for all of them, especially when catering to the super-soldier appetite. He had not yet learned the lesson that Barnes had. If she needed help with something, beyond dealing with her emotional state, she would ask for it.

“Do you…” he began, just as she had predicted and she was quick to cut him off.

“No,” she said. “Get some coffee and relax, Steve. I’ve got this.”

“But…”

“The food’s almost done and I’ve already got the plates and silverware out,” she reasoned, turning back around to turn the bacon over.

“Just let her cook, Steve,” Barnes added from his seat. “Or she’ll burn your food out of spite.”

She hummed in false thoughtfulness with a small, amused smile. “What an idea.”

With his hands held up in mock surrender, her fellow blond resigned himself to get his drink and allow her to cook in peace. Romanoff had wandered into the living room and turned on the TV to watch the morning news channels, both national and international. In the undisturbed tranquility granted to her, Rhia finished the food, taking swigs from her own coffee – polluted with copious amounts of cream and sugar – between the stirring, mixing and flipping.

And then it was all done and she announced that breakfast was served.

After the meal, which was spent in silence with exception for grunts of satisfaction and a profuse number of compliments in regards to her cooking skills, the time to open the remaining gifts was upon them. Settling down in the living room after tending to the dirty dishes as Steve waved for them all to sit as he handed out from the presents from a pile in the corner. There were not many, but it seemed as though every one of the Avengers had gotten her and Barnes at least one thing. Though, Stark had given more than one, but that seemed par for the course given the man’s wealth and love of sharing it.

Barton had given her a cookbook, filled to the brim with nothing but different recipes for every sort of stir fry under the sun. Doctor Banner had gifted her a tin of loose-leaf tea and, while tea was not her hot drink of choice, the dried leaves smelled heavenly and she would admit to sitting there and just inhaling for at least a minute or two. Romanoff, in true Black Widow fashion, had purchased a particularly lethal looking knife shaped like a curving claw with a ring on the other side of the handle.

It looked fearsome. Rhia had looked up to the other woman with a raised brow of confusion, even as she dragged one of her fingers across the shining blade and tried to guess how she was meant to hold it. How she could utilize it properly in an actual fight. “What’s this?” she asked with the knife proffered in the air, holding it up and away from the curious and reaching hands of Barnes even though the man had just unwrapped a knife of his own.

“It’s called a Karambit,” the red-head said. “When you are feeling better and are ready to get back into the swing of things, I’ll show you how to use it properly.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.”

“It definitely suits you,” Steve commented from one of the chairs, glancing up from flipping through a book on art that he had just unwrapped, nodding at the knife with a warm smile on his face.

Rhia felt herself flush ever so slightly from the unforeseen compliment, looking away from those baby blues to study the knife once more, beginning to try and twirl it around in her hands to distract herself.

Such a deadly, but svelte, weapon and he thought that it suited her. If she didn’t know any better, she might’ve thought he was flirting with her, but that couldn’t be true.

She decided to ignore it, setting the knife off to the side, and reaching out to see what was in the one and only gift bag. It was a bottle of alcohol. Mead, to be precise, which was something she had never drank before and was now very curious to try. The tag had blocky letters written onto it but with the short length and the letters that looked very much like an O and an R at the end she took it to mean that the gift was from Thor.

How fitting… and appreciated.

“Anyone want to help me drink some of this? Now? Later? It’s from Thor,” she said, while holding the bottle up for the perusal of the others. “Want to see if it’s any good?”

Romanoff was quick to lean forward and snatch it from her hands, leaning back to begin reading the text on the bottle’s label. “Never had mead before,” she commented as her eyes flickered back and forth as she read. “Seventeen percent alcohol content and accented with a rich and flavorful medley of oranges, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg.”

“That sounds good,” Steve said. “Especially considering what it’s doing outside right now.” He pointed towards the windows, where snow flurries were floating picturesquely down from the sky. “And I’ve never had mead before either.”

“Maybe once we’re done opening the gifts?” Barnes suggested.

It was a unanimous agreement amongst them that a quick drink was definitely in order.

A present from Sam Wilson was the next to be opened. She too had received a book. _Fire and Forget_ , which seemed to be a collection of fictional short-stories written by military veterans. It looked as if it had been read before from the handful of dogeared pages and the creases in the binding. Flipping open the front cover she noted that Wilson had written her a short note.

**_You’re not alone, Lastimosa. Read this if you want to and don’t be afraid to lean on those you’ve got now. We’re all here for you. You’re one of the Team even if you aren’t on it… Yet._ **

**_And always remember that you can move forward while still looking behind._ **

**_Merry Christmas._ **

Rhiannon didn’t know what to say. What to think. This was something she couldn’t deal with right now. Not if she wanted to preserve the fairly decent mood that she was in. No. She would deal with this particular bombshell later. In private. The book was set into the box that she had designated as the one where she would put everything.

The next present was from Steve and she unwrapped it to find a new pair of gloves in a similar style to those that had been burnt to a crisp by the sphere. It was a good thing too because she had no spares. Rhia immediately went to try them on, tightening the fastening around her wrist and flexed her fingers, making note of the reinforcements on her knuckles and the back of her hand. Even the dark green color matched quite well with the rest of her gear and her Titan.

She enjoyed being color coordinated with Rome.

A matched pair of Titan and Pilot.

“Thank you, Steve,” she said, looking up at the blond with a bright smile. “They’re perfect.”

“You’re welcome. But you should also thank Buck.” He gestured to the brunet sharing the couch with her, who glanced up from one of his own recently opened presents. “He was the one who happened to mention that you’d need new ones.”

“Well, thank you both then.”

The second to last gift she opened seemed to have been from J.A.R.V.I.S. and Rhia had most definitely not been expecting to receive a present from the artificial intelligence. But, after reading the small note that had been attached, she realized that it was more accurately for her Titan. A rather large, but flat, box that was filled with stencils of every single decal on the Vanguard-class’s chassis and the promise that appropriate paints would be arriving after the New Year.

Rhia still had yet to repaint RA-5172 and the gift was precisely what she needed to complete the job.

Had the two been talking to each other?

“Thank you very much for these, J.A.R.V.I.S. I’m sure Rome is going to love getting all of these redone and a fresh coat of paint,” she said with her head tilted slightly up towards the ceiling, even though the action was entirely unnecessary.

“You are quite welcome,” the AI replied cordially. “I will admit that I have greatly enjoyed having the company of RA-5172 and the conversations that we have shared since his arrival. It has been incredibly refreshing to converse with another artificial intelligence of equitable quality and design.”

“You making friends, J.A.R.V.I.S?” Natasha asked teasingly.

“That would seem to be the case, Agent Romanoff.”

And finally, she was down the last gift in her pile. Nothing more than a manila envelope but the bright and obnoxious stickers – all of Iron Man – on the front, which meant it could only have been from Stark. Sometimes Rhiannon was confused how the man could transition from being a normal and functioning adult to an immature child. She opened the envelope and pulled out several sheets of paper.

What sort of half-assed present was this?

But then she started reading what was on the pages and her mind was blown away.

The first of them was simply the code for the vault where all of her and Barnes’ knives, bullets, grenades and missiles had been locked away. She now had access to everything with no restrictions and an offer from Stark to begin manufacturing more to add to their supply. The second of the pages was a job offer. Not for the Avengers. Not for Stark Industries. But instead it was a personal job where she would just be working with him and Banner on their science projects. Full access to all of the engineering equipment she might desire and the allowance to propose her own ideas and willingly share any technology from her reality that she might want to. With a ridiculously large salary to go along with it.

And the third was a proposal from the multi-billionaire genius – with all of the political and monetary pull at his command – to have legal paperwork created for her to live on Earth without any difficulties given her origins. Citing that because she was human, instead of an alien like Thor, she couldn’t pull off the extraterrestrial diplomatic immunity that the beefy Asgardian had.

The first had been reasonable and something she had been expecting to receive eventually. The second was a bit of a surprise, but Rhia couldn’t say that she was too shocked by the offer. After all, the both of them shared a great love of engineering and technology. And she would have had to have been an idiot to refuse the amount of money that he was offering with the position. But it was the third page that hit the hardest out of them all.

Rhia slid the pages back into the envelope and added it to her collection of opened presents and looked to see that the other three had also finished with their own.

“Time for that drink?” she asked and felt that the need to put a little bit of liquid courage in her system was greater now than it had been a couple of minute ago. There was a chorus of yeses to her question and she rose to find suitable glasses for the mead. With a quartet of glass tumblers found and set down on the coffee table in the living room, she opened the bottle and took a sniff of the contents.

It certainly smelled nice. Lightly citrusy and sweet with a spicy undertone.

She poured two fingers worth into each of the glasses and gestured for everyone to take their own.

“Should we toast to something or just down the hatch it goes?” Natasha asked curiously, swirling the dark orange-amber contents of her tumbler and holding it up to her nose.

“Do we have anything worth toasting about?” Steve asked.

“It’s too early in the day for deep thought,” Rhia announced bluntly, already putting the glass to her lips and preparing to take a hefty swig.

“Agreed,” Barnes said and followed her example.

The mead was sweet and spicy in equal measure and Rhia found herself slugging down the entire glass far faster than she had meant to, but it seemed as though the others had done the same. She glanced up towards the bottle and wondered if she should go for another. But before she could decide whether or not, Steve broke the silence.

“So, I have something to say,” he said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, but looking a bit on the nervous side as his focus narrowed in on both Rhia and Barnes. “It’s not a gift, but now is as good a time as any and you don’t have to answer immediately. This is an offer that will always be open. But there are spots on the Avengers for the both of you should you choose to accept.”

“You’d both fit right in,” Natasha added supportively. “And we could definite use another pair of super-soldiers. Not to mention the advantage that RA-5172 will bring.”

“Just something to think about,” Steve continued. “It was a unanimous vote to make the offer.”

And it was with all of those offers, and the troubling and confused thoughts that came with them, buzzing through her mind that Rhia returned to her rooms. She carried her box of presents under one of her arms, planning to put them all away before sitting down a serious thinking session. But as the blonde woman turned to close the door behind her, she saw that Natasha was standing just beyond the door frame with her own box of gifts in hand.

“Do you mind if I come in for a moment?” the red-haired woman asked politely. “Wanted to talk to you without either of the boys nearby.”

“Yeah, sure,” Rhia said, stepping back to let the shorter woman in and then closing the door behind her. “What do you want to talk about?” She moved further into the apartment and made to set her box of things down on the coffee table in the living room.

“First, I wanted to ask how you’re doing?” Romanoff asked seriously. “Barnes and Rogers are both in quite a tizzy after what happened to you, but I know that you must be putting on a brave face around them. To stop them from worrying even more than they already are.” She huffed a sigh. “I know I would be if I were in your shoes.”

“I don’t really know,” Rhia admitted. “Feels like every second I feel differently about everything. One minute I’m angry, the next I’m crying and the next I almost feel like I’m back to normal again.”

“I think that the only thing that’s going to help with that is time,” Natasha said. “But for when things start to feel overwhelming, I just wanted you to know that you can talk to me if you’d like to. Or we can go to the gym.” But when faced with the expression of honest confusion on Rhiannon’s face and lack of response, the red-haired woman continued speaking. “It’s what any good friend would do.”

“And we’re friends?”

“I’d like to think so,” the red-head said with a brief, but honest, smile, which quickly gained a playful edge and a sparkle appeared in the super-spy’s emerald green eyes. “And I’d really like a rematch in the ring. We’ve gotta resolve that tie of ours from last time, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short(er), but sweet(er), chapter for you all this time. A little bit of holiday cheer after the doom and gloom of the last couple of chapters. Setting up some things, both minor and major, for the future with this one. A little bit of domesticity and bonding between these four with some side support from those not in attendance. A smidge of playful Bucky, a dash of flirty Steve and a heaping teaspoon of Natasha is a good bro. This one was lightly edited and proofread because I was impatient, so forgive any misspellings and grammatical mistakes.


	23. Chapter 23

**1106 HOURS | DECEMBER 31, 2014 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

“So, how was your Christmas?” Natasha asked Barton, leant up against the nearest wall, as he wandered around his apartment to unpack his clothes and the other things that he had brought with him over the holidays. “Did they like the things I got them?”

“It went good,” he said with a bright and happy expression on his face. The happiest that the red-haired woman had seen him in quite some time. But trips back home always put Clint in a good mood. “Really good. Lots of fun. And they definitely liked their gifts and send their love back.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I’ll have to go for a visit soon if I get the chance. It’s been too long.”

“You should,” he said, looking up from folding a couple of shirts with a curious look in his eyes. “But how did things go here? With the trio? Anything interesting happen that I should know about?”

“No,” she admitted with a frown. “Nothing too exciting. Though, you did miss out on a phenomenal Christmas breakfast. Lastimosa cooked again and it was really good.” She sighed and looked towards the ceiling as she tried to organize her thoughts into some semblance of coherency. “I’ll admit that they all do seem to be growing closer, but the idea of a relationship seems to be far from their minds. They’re all just tip-toeing around each other.”

“Unsurprising.”

“I know,” she said. “I can understand that Lastimosa isn’t thinking about her feelings for Barnes right now. Not with everything she’s dealing with. And Barnes goes from hot to cold depending on the day. One moment he’s getting friendly and cozy with the both of them and then next he’s stepping back.”

“And Steve?” he asked.

“Doesn’t seem to know what to do. He loves Barnes and is definitely physically attracted to Lastimosa, but he watches the both of them with this sad look in his eyes. Like he’s seeing them as being together or that they’ll soon to be together now that Lastimosa is here for good. It’s almost like he’s debating on whether he should step back and just let it happen.”

“Sadly, that’s almost not very surprising,” the archer groused as he tossed a couple of folding pairs of socks into a drawer with a bit more force than necessary. “Captain America. The King of Self-Sacrifice. Even in regards to his own personal happiness.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. It was too true. How often Steve gave up things for the Team and for the world as a whole. Keeping people and those he cared about safe at the expense of himself. If he saw a chance for Barnes to be happy and healthy in a relationship with their wayward Titan Pilot, he’d give up his own chance with the man in a heartbeat. Contenting himself to watch from the sidelines.

But there was something that even she had to admit might be a viable source behind Steve’s reluctance to think of any other sort of alternate solution for his feelings.

“Just because you have some sort of romantic feelings for two people at the same time,” she said. “That doesn’t mean that someone – especially for someone who thinks like Steve – will immediately attempt to find a way to be with both at the same time. He probably thinks it would be considered cheating.”

“Makes sense, I guess. But you know what this means then?” he asked.

She nodded and hummed in affirmation.

“It’s time for an intervention,” Clint continued. “Gotta put the idea into their heads that there’s another choice open to them all if they’re willing to be brave enough to try and go for it. Especially if we want to win the bet. I’m looking forward the holding my victory over Wilson for as long as possible.”

“Not Thor?” she asked.

“Hell no! I don’t have a death wish.”

“But why Sam then?”

“He is my rival,” Clint said with a broad grin. “Another bird-man. There can only be one.”

“You’re not the Highlander,” she deadpanned in response.

“How do you know?” he demanded. “I could be.”

“Clint… Why are you like this?”

“Like what?” But the smile on his face and the sparkle in his eyes meant that he knew exactly what she meant.

She groaned in exasperation and chose to change to subject before her friend really got going with his childish shenanigans. Honestly, between him and Stark she didn’t know who could be more immature. “So, who’s going to talk to who?”

“Well… You’re closer to Rogers and Lastimosa than I am, so I’ll take Barnes while you can tackle the blonds,” he suggested and she was inclined to agree. By chance, Natasha had a meeting with Steve within the hour. It was going to be a talk about their gathered intelligence and the possibility of the Avengers being sent on an operation at some point in the future. The meeting was set to end around lunchtime and she was sure that Lastimosa would make an appearance then.

“Sounds good. Got a meeting with Steve in a bit anyways,” she said.

“Yeah? Possible mission coming up?” he asked curiously. “HYDRA or someone else?”

“Maybe. Definitely HYDRA, though,” she said. “We’ve gotten some promising leads out of the intel that Lastimosa and Barnes pulled, but we’re going to need more surveillance and tracing to see if it’s a viable operation. No point in flying out to just have to investigate some abandoned remnants that aren’t worth our time.”

“Done that more than enough times for one lifetime,” the archer said in agreement. “How long are we thinking that’ll take?”

“Maybe a week or two. Hard to say at this point,” she admitted.

“Well, let me know if you need another pair of eyes to take a look at things.”

“Will do.” She glanced over at the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was about time for the meeting with Steve. “I should go. Bet Steve is already in the conference room going over everything.”

“Probably. He does go through his workaholic phases. But are we doing anything special tonight?” he asked. “It is New Year’s Eve.”

“Don’t know yet. Maybe? Maybe not? We’ll have to wait and see if the other three are up for doing something.” She began to make her way towards the door with a wave of her hand. “I’ll talk to you later, Clint. And you’ll have to tell me how it goes with Barnes.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groaned loudly. “How the hell am I supposed to talk about romance with him?”

“Dunno. Talk about something else first and wait for a good segue.”

“Right!” he yelled. “Because it’s just that easy.”

“Good luck!” she called and was then striding briskly through the halls towards the conference room.

Less than two minutes later she was at the door and opened it to find that she had been spot on with her assumptions. “Look at me. Correct once again,” she murmured under her breath, but Steve’s head snapped up because of that damn enhanced hearing of his.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing, nothing,” she said. “Hey, Steve.”

“Hi. Heard that Clint was back. Did he have a good Christmas?”

“He did.”

“Went to visit family, right?” he asked with a slight tilt of his head.

“Yeah,” she said, preparing to spit of one of the many lies she told people about Clint’s family. “Just some distant cousins that he reconnected with after his circus days. Rowdy bunch, but they make him happy and give him someone to connect with other than us. A touch of civilian life.”

“That’s good,” Steve said, glancing down at the table with a bit of furrow forming between his brows. “Family is family – close, distant, by blood or choice – and he’s lucky to have them.”

“Mhmm. That’s really philosophical of you, Rogers,” Natasha teased as she approached, wondering what it was that had Steve so deep in his head. Even his hair was in a bit of disarray and there was a slightly rumpled look to his clothes. They all dressed casually around the Compound, but this was a new sort of look for the Captain. She looked down towards the table – putting her questions away for another time – to look over the digital display of documents and pictures that they could control by touch. “So, where are you at with all of this?” she asked with a wave of her hand.

“Just looking over that black-market arms deal in Cameroon,” he said, gesturing towards the cluster of information underneath his hands.

“The one in Douala, right?” she asked for confirmation as she slid a bit closer to lean over and run her eyes over the details.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “A total of eighteen crates of high-end weaponry with five of them having modifications based off of Chitauri technology. All of them being sold over the course of seven months by third-party dealers in the area.”

“And do we know who made the buy?”

“Some went to mercenary groups based out of Libya and Algeria and others were immediately turned around and resold to parties in the Middle-East. I had J.A.R.V.I.S. distribute information out to regional militaries to intercept some of the shipments in transit. As of right now only twelve have been recovered and turned over to NATO to be destroyed. The other six are still unaccounted for.”

“We’ll have to keep an eye out for those,” she mumbled. “Too dangerous to ignore.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“We having any luck tracing the delivery back to the buyer?” she asked. “I’m assuming that we’re both on the same page in thinking that it’s HYDRA.”

“You assume correctly. So far, they’re really only ones that have been making any viable weaponry with the alien tech. Most of the others who have tried end up blowing themselves up when it goes wrong.”

“Lucky us.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “GPS and CCTV sources that we’re fairly certain are accurate have the shipment coming in on trucks along the coastline from somewhere between Lagos and Porto-Novo.”

“There’s a lot of empty space between those two places, Steve. Plenty of space for off-the-map runways in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “How are we going to be able to track anything? If it came by ship it’d be much easier to track, but I’d bet it all came in by plane. They’ve still got quite a sizable fleet of old Quinjets out there and more than a couple of them still have the retro-reflective paneling.”

“I know. But J.A.R.V.I.S. managed to pull some footage from satellites from out in the wilderness.” The tall blond pointed down to a grainy, but somewhat legible, image in a semi-colorized state. “Does that look like a cargo plane landing on one of those runways you just mentioned?” he asked and she was inclined to agree. It did very much look like a dark shadow in the shape of a medium-sized aircraft. “The quality is pretty bad, as you can see, but J.A.R.V.I.S. is working on clearing it up,” Steve continued to explain, tapping the tip of one of his fingers right over the plane-like dark spot. “Going to see if these are the guys we’re looking for and then trying to trace the flight path back to where they came from. We can pick up actively tracking once he gets that done.”

“This is good. Really good,” she said with a mounting sense of satisfaction and anticipation. “One step closer to catching all of those rats.”

There was a definite growl to the super-soldier’s voice as he said, “And either putting them behind bars or putting them in the ground.”

Oh, yes. Steve was in a bit of mood today. He wasn’t usually this outwardly aggressive. She would have to be careful about how she went about executing her plan.

“So, do you think Barnes and Lastimosa will be up for the op if or when all of this pans out?” she asked tentatively, playing up a sense of honest curiosity – which was at least partially true – but mostly to divert their conversation in the direction she wanted it to go.

“Don’t know,” he said with a bit of a frown. “I haven’t gotten an answer from either of them about whether or not they might want to join the Team.”

“No?” she prodded.

“Hasn’t really been a lot of time for socialization these past few days,” he explained. “I’ve been busy. Didn’t do the work that I should have these past couple of weeks for… reasons. And they’ve both been off doing whatever it is they do when I’m not around. Rhiannon’s been doing a bit better these days and Bucky’s been…” He trailed off abruptly, his lips flattening into a scowl and his gaze going to somewhere in the middle distance.

“Steve?” she asked, leaning to side to put her face in his direct line of sight.

He shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Uh… Don’t worry about it.”

Natasha was far from convinced. Something was bothering him. “That doesn’t sound like you’re fine.”

“Just thinking about some things,” he blustered. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

“What sort of things?” she asked.

“Natasha…”

“Steve,” she shot back in the exact same sort of tone. “The briefing is done. I’m not here as the Widow or as a former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I’m here as your friend and I want to help. Tell me what’s bothering you. Please.”

Steve turned his head away to look towards the far wall, nothing more than one of the many panes of glass that made up the dozen or so walls of the room, but it was telling that he wouldn’t keep eye contact with her. Very telling. Something was bothering him. Something that made him uncomfortable or nervous or unsure of himself.

“After the sphere explosion,” he began. “When Rhia was injured and not doing well – emotionally, I mean – those… Those were some of the best days that I’ve actually had in recent memory. Spending that time with the both of them. Just sitting around and talking. Or reading books and listening to music. Or watching television and movies.”

“And? You still do that,” she prompted. “Didn’t you guys just start watching Star Wars the other night?”

“Yes. And in the correct order, because Wilson practically drilled it into my head that you start with Episode Four, which makes no...”

He was rambling. He _was_ nervous about whatever the problem was.

“Steve,” she interrupted. “Stop dodging the question. What’s changed?”

He blew out a sigh, turning his head back to look at her. “It’s not the same.”

“What isn’t?”

He ran one of his hand through his hair, mussing the mess it was already in into even greater disarray. “I don’t know,” he mumbled uncertainly. “There’s just something different. We all sit in different places now and Bucky doesn’t really talk to me anymore. When Rhia would take naps sometimes, because she wasn’t sleeping well at night, we’d just end up talking. Real quiet because we didn’t want to wake her. About before and just random things that come to mind and now… I just…”

“You want him to love you like he used to,” she said, choosing to dive right in. “Like you still do for him. You want that relationship back.”

“What?” he asked, eyes wide and panicked. Like a deer in the headlights. “No. We’re just…”

“Steve, stop,” she said sternly. She would not allow him to try and hide his emotions from her. He needed to get this all out and into the open or there wouldn’t be any way to move forward. “It’s obvious and most of us already know. You don’t have to hide it anymore. We don’t care that you’re in love with or sexually attracted to another man.”

He uncrossed his arms and began to rub his hands together in a nervous tic, a faintly pink hue to his cheeks and a waning fear in his baby blue eyes. “I’m just so used to hiding it. Locking it away until I’m alone. Had to do it all the time before. It was illegal. I went to jail enough as it was.”

“Well, you’re not doing too well with that now, are you? All Barnes has to do is walk into a room and you go all doe-eyed and love-struck. Hardly takes a specially trained super-spy to notice that.”

“I do not,” he said, the fear trading places with affront.

“You do,” she cooed. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s very cute.”

“Cute?” he asked with a scrunch of his nose in disgust. “I’m not cute. And you’re supposed to be helping me. Not teasing me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, only to appease him because she most certainly wasn’t particular sorry for saying that love-struck Steve wasn’t one of the most adorable things she had ever seen. She would not apologize for speaking the truth. “So, Barnes is still being distant?” she asked. “That just means you’ve got to put a little more effort into it. Don’t let him run away and hide. Be gentle, but persistent.”

“And Rhia’s in love with him.”

“So?”

“What if he’s being distant because he doesn’t want to be with me anymore?” Steve asked, as what seemed like of his insecurities presented by this new situation came tumbling out. “What if he wants to be with her instead?”

“Maybe he does,” Natasha counseled, because it was untrue. “But I guarantee that Barnes is still in love with you. Just as much as you are with him.”

“How can you tell?” he asked.

A soft smile curled on her lips as she said, “Because he makes the same moon-eyes at you when you enter a room that you make at him when he does.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. He’s probably just…” The blond fumbled for another explanation, but she wasn’t going to let him retreat. Let him convince himself that he wasn’t worth the effort.

“It does, Steve,” she urged. “You’re just being difficult and fatalistic and self-sacrificing. James Barnes is still in love with you. And maybe he loves Rhiannon too. Believe it or not, you can love more than one person at the same time.”

“But...”

And now it was time to pounce. “How do you feel about Lastimosa?” she asked suddenly.

“What?”

“Do you see her as a friend?” Natasha pressed. “As a sister, maybe? Or do you look at her and think that she’s a beautiful, strong and ferocious woman that you’d be damn lucky to be with if she ever gave you the chance?”

“What?” Steve’s eyes were wide and his mouth was partially open in shock. “Natasha… I don’t… What part of she’s in love with Bucky did you not understand? What part of I’m in love with Bucky did you not understand? If they’re going to be together then how can I…”

“And what part of you can love more than one person did you not get?” An idea came to mind. “Maybe that’s the way you get Bucky back? You go through Rhiannon. Make a connection with her and she can help you reconnect with Barnes in way you couldn’t all on your own. And then you work together to bring him out of his shell.”

“I – How would that…”

She could practically hear the gears in his brain working overtime to comprehend what she was telling him. The metaphorical smoke was practically pouring out of his ears, which was bright red at this point. He might’ve been embarrassed, but this was something that needed to be said.

“Do me a favor, Steve. Look up the word polyamory on the internet. Or consensual non-monogamy. You do some research and you do some thinking,” the red-haired super-spy urged seriously. “You think really, really hard about if you think you could do that. If you would be willing to try something like that. For Bucky and for Rhiannon, who both need to have people in their corner that they can trust unconditionally, because they don’t have them anywhere else. People that will care for them and love them through all of their pains and hardships.” Natasha switched gears as she came to the end of her argument. “You deserve to be happy, Steve, and they make you happy. And if you want my opinion, which I’m going to give regardless, I think that the three of you would be a great polyamorous triad.”

A quick glance up at the clock on the wall said that it was just after twelve and she was getting a bit hungry. She had put enough onto Steve’s plate for the day anyways. Time for a clean break and to steer the conversation into something lighter. “Now I think I’m going to go and make my lunch now, it’s just past noon. You want to come with?”

It took a moment for Steve to respond, seeming overwhelmed and staring at nothing in particular, until she waved a hand in front of his face. “Uh. No. No, that’s alright,” he said. “You go ahead. I’m just going to, uh, finish up here. I’ll eat later.”

“Okay. Make sure you do eat, though. Can’t have the super-soldier metabolism of yours getting upset.”

“I will.” He smiled a little bit and nodded his head. “Promise.”

“Good.” She turned and began to make her way towards the door, before she stopped and looked back over her shoulder. “And Steve?”

“Yeah?” he asked, already turned back to the table and looking down at the display, but she knew that he wasn’t focusing on what he was seeing. No. Her words were running around and round and around in his head and she would bet that they would be for quite some time. Hopefully, the idea would take root. But she wouldn’t force it.

“It’s just a suggestion,” she said gently. “You don’t have to do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I know,” he said.

“I’ll see you later then.”

And then she walked out with a spark of hope in her heart.

* * *

“You’re back.”

And that was the greeting that Clint Barton got as he wandered into the gym on his hunt for a certain James Barnes. A question asked to JARVIS and then a quick change of clothes and he had been on his way. Nervous? Yes. But also, with a bit of a spring in his step, because if the plan went accordingly both he and Natasha, who had come to a mutual agreement, would both be a hundred bucks richer.

“Yup,” Clint said brightly, looking over to where the brown-haired man was hard at work on a set of bicep curls with his singular human arm. The archer imagined that the metal arm didn’t need maintenance of that sort. “Got in this morning. So, did you like your gift?”

“The leather jacket, right?” Barnes asked and he nodded in head and hummed in affirmation. “Yeah, it’s nice. Fits. But why did ya get it for me?”

“Rogers has one similar,” Clint supplied with a shrug as he began to slide through a series of stretches to loosen himself up. “Though, his is brown instead of black. But I thought that you could use one like it too. Something a bit nicer than the others you own for when you decide to wander into the public.”

He looked confused, but honestly grateful as he said, “Well… Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” Clint teased lightly, waving his hands in the air dramatically. “You’re making me blush. So, how have things been upstairs?” He tapped the tips of a couple of his fingers to his temple to convey that he meant how Barnes’ mind had been doing lately.

Blue-gray eyes narrowed in response with a light scowl. “Why’re you asking?”

“I’m curious. And concerned,” Clint admitted. “And just maybe I’m starting to think of you as a friend.”

Barnes seemed to weighing the legitimacy of his words, but after a tense moment apparently chose to accept it. “It’s been okay,” he said, but that sort of answer was a bit sparse on details.

“Just okay?”

“Not great, as usual,” he continued, pausing to set down the weight he had in his grasp and take a seat on a nearby bench. “But not terrible.”

“How so?” Clint asked.

“Sleeping a bit more,” the metal-armed brunet admitted. “Less nightmares, which is nice. The real bad memories don’t seem to be coming back as frequently, which I’m grateful for. Think I’ve remembered most of the important stuff, from before and during the war, at this point.”

“That’s pretty good.” Clint was honestly really happy for the guy. Dealing with trauma sucked ass no matter what sort it was and any amount of healing was always a positive.

“Mmm,” Barnes hummed, his eyes darting towards the wall to break contact. “I guess.”

“Hey, take what you can get. Progress is progress, Barnes, no matter how small it may be. But actually, speaking of progress, how has Lastimosa been doing?” he asked, beginning the gradual transition as part of his master plan.

A raised brown and lips pulled thin was the reaction he got. “Why don’t you go and ask her yourself?”

Clint explained, “Because we’re not that close yet and she’d probably try to lie and put on a brave face to say that she’s fine. I’d rather hear it from an honest source and you know her better than any one of us.” It was true on all counts, but it was also a good way to get the man talking about the blonde Pilot.

“She’s doing better,” he eventually said. “Still sad and angry, but she’s slowly coming to terms with it.”

“Must be tough,” Clint said with a slow nod his head. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like to go through something like that. But you and Rogers we’re there for her when she needed you.”

“Of course,” the other man was quick to say. “I owe her that much and it’s just like Steve to be there when someone needs him. He’s just like that. Selfless.”

“You make a good trio,” the archer commented offhandedly. “And how are things going with Steve?”

“What do you mean?” Barnes asked in confusion, brows furrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side, with wayward strands of hair falling loose from the messy tail it had been pulled back into.

“I mean you guys used to be pretty damn close before all that HYDRA bullshit, right?” Clint asked. “So, are you guys getting friendly again now that your memories are mostly back? Talking and hanging out when you can? Catching up for all the time you’ve lost?”

Barnes’ expression darkened as he looked away again. Maintaining eye contact with the man was proving to be a challenge, but it was a habitual behavior. “Sort of,” he said. “Not really.”

“What? Come on, man.” Clint thew up his hands and gave up on the pretense of doing his stretches. This conversation would need all his focus. “Steve is so incredibly happy that you’re back and alive and you’re practically ghosting him.”

“Ghosting?”

“Avoiding contact,” Clint explained, remembering that the term hadn’t really been a thing back in the 1940s. Sometimes Barnes acted pretty well adjusted to the modern era that it was easy to forget that he’d been born almost a hundred years ago. “Being indifferent to his efforts to reconnect with you.”

“I’m not!” Barnes barked with a snarl, beginning to rise up onto his feet in anger before stopped halfway and sitting back down heavily, like all the anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The flash of white teeth went away and his tone got a lot quieter and more solemn as he said, “I’m not indifferent.”

“Why are you doing it then?” the archer asked, curious to what the other man’s reasoning could be.

“I…” he began, but just shut him mouth with the clicking of teeth and pursed his lips.

“You can tell me,” Clint urged softly. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else, but you can’t keep doing this, Barnes. You’re gunna end up breaking Rogers’ heart.”

“Better a broken heart than a broken neck.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Those steely blue-gray eyes snapped up and they were alight with emotions: rage, fear, sadness, panic, anxiety, grief, guilt and who knew how many more. A veritable storm was churning all in this man’s eyes. His brows furrowed, lips pulled thin and curled downward into a scowl. “I’m dangerous. I’m not safe. I’m not a good person. I’m a killer. A murderer. He can’t…”

“Be with you because of that,” Clint finished and Barnes nodded once in agreement.

“It’s not safe and I’m not worth it.”

“I think that’s Steve’s decision. Not yours,” Barton reasoned sternly, before switching to another tactic. “But you don’t seem to mind when Lastimosa is looking after you.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Clint asked with a raised brow. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“She’s not in love with me,” the metal-armed man reasoned with an attempt at logic. “Steve is.”

“You’re wrong,” Clint stated bluntly.

Oh, how wrong he was. How could he not know?

“What did you say?”

“You’re wrong,” Clint said once more, crossing his arm over his chest and leaning forward. “Lastimosa is definitely in love with you. Can’t think of any other reason for someone to do what she’s done for you. If Steve was in her shoes, would he have done anything different than what she’s done? I don’t think so.”

“But…” Barnes began to protest, his hands twitched and squeezing where they rested on his knees, the knuckles on his right turning white under the strain. Even his feet were shifting around anxiously.

“And you’re in love with her,” Clint continued without pause, feeling the need to keep pushing to see if he could get through Barnes’ thick skull about what he had a chance of getting if he was strong enough. “Exactly like how you’re still in love with Steve even after all this time.”

“No.”

“No? It’s not a bad thing, Barnes. There’s no judgement here,” he assured warmly. “There’s nothing wrong with being in love with two people at the same time. There’s tons of people all over the world who do just that and live perfectly happy lives.”

“I’m not good enough for them,” Barnes tried to argue with a shake of his head, his metal hand running through the messy strands and pulling it all free from the elastic that held it in check. A stress response? “Their such good people. They shouldn’t… They can’t…”

“Again, that’s not your decision. It’s theirs,” Barton said. “And frankly, if I were in your shoes and dealing with what you are, I’d welcome their love and support in a heartbeat. Worthy of it or not.”

“It’s not that easy,” he argued weakly, peering out through the curtain of hair with eyes that were beginning to get a bit misty and wet at the corners.

“I know it isn’t. How do you think I felt after being under Loki’s control?” Clint asked rhetorically, digging into his own experiences and dredging up all of the things he’d had to go through in the aftermath of his own instance with mind control. He tilted his head up towards the ceiling as he remembered it all. “After the Battle of New York was done, I didn’t want to be around anyone. Thought I was still compromised even though I wasn’t under his direct control anymore. Almost put my resignation in at S.H.I.E.L.D. right then and there. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I had people who cared about me. Who loved me. People who supported me through all of it. Through the guilt and grief and the mountains of therapy that came with it.”

“Romanoff?” Barnes asked softly.

“Amongst others, but yes,” Clint answered honestly. What he would have done if Natasha hadn’t been there for him during those rough months? He probably wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her particularly specialized form of support. “She was there for me through it all. Someone to lean on. Rhiannon and Steve can be your people to lean on if you let them in. And you can be that for them too. You’ve already been there for Lastimosa.”

There was a moment of quiet as Clint finished his tirade and waited for Barnes’ response. He seemed to be thinking with his arms shifting to rest his elbows on his knees and staring down at the mat-covered floor. The archer would be patient. He would give him the time to digest it all. But it was only a couple of minutes afterwards when the man spoke.

“I don’t think – I don’t think I’m ready for any sort of relationship yet,” he said softly; an admittance that seemed to hurt. “And I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“But I think you should try,” Clint pushed, but gently. “For them and for yourself.”

“Maybe.”

“Just something to think about,” he said in conclusion. With Barnes in such a state it would be counter-productive to push anymore. He was thinking and that was good enough for now. The goal was to encourage the relationship to grow naturally, not force it. Time to accomplish his second task. “Now, I ought to get going with some sort of workout before lunch rolls around. I slacked off for the holidays and ate way too much food. Can’t get fat on a team of superheroes, now can I?” But the attempted joke went over the other man’s head, who too lost in his thoughts already and beyond the archer’s reach, so he just shrugged and moved off to go for a quick run on one of the treadmills.

* * *

Natasha’s plans for intercepting Lastimosa during lunch did not pan out as expected. In fact, they rather failed spectacularly because the woman never showed up. Lunch came. Lunch went. A whole hour with no sign of the blonde woman. She saw Rogers, Barnes and Barton, but not Rhiannon Lastimosa. And so, with her coat, hat, gloves, boots and a midday meal in her grasp, the red-haired woman ventured out on a direct course to the dropship.

Following the sounds of music, which was much quieter than the last time Natasha had been here, she walked up the ramp and found the woman kneeling amidst the parts of an enormous gun. The Titan was crouched in his usual corner and seemed to be powered down for the time being.

Perfect.

“And there she is,” the red-head said, though not particularly quietly. “Hiding in her cave once again.”

And yet again in a display of enhanced hearing, even over the softly crooning music in the background, Lastimosa’s head snapped up. “What?” she asked, as her eyes went wide at seeing that she had a guest. “Oh! Hey, Natasha. What’s up?”

“Not much. But you missed lunch so I brought you some.” She proffered the bag containing the food in the air and wiggled it from side to side a little bit.

“Damn! I thought I’d set an alarm for noon.” The blonde looked off to side, where balanced precariously on one of the larger parts was the brand-new Stark Phone that she had received for Christmas. “Guess not,” she said with a shrug and extended her hand for the bag. “Thanks. What’d ya make me?”

“Cold cut with all the fixings and some chips,” Natasha said as the food was passed along. “Hope you’re not too picky. But now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t bring you something to drink. Sorry.”

Lastimosa laughed lightly and shook her head, peering into the bag and reaching in to extract the bag of potato chips. “I’m not picky and it’s fine. There’s a case of bottled water on the second deck. I’ll grab one later. Anyways, I learned real quick during my time with the Militia to eat what’s put in front of you without complaint. The IMC used to target agricultural worlds in addition to those with fuel and mineral resources so you can imagine what that did to us.”

“Sounds like it was a hell of a rough time.”

“It was,” she said with a nod of her head, opening the bag and eating one of the chips with an audible crunch. “Much better now, but those early years were pretty bad.”

Natasha hummed thoughtfully. “So, what’re you working on here?” she asked with a wave of her hand to the riot of parts on the floor. It looked to be one of the larger weapons. Well over twice as long as she was tall.

“Just cleaning out the coils,” Lastimosa said as she shifted from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed to be more comfortable. “The railgun and the TPAR are the most finicky of the lot so they need more frequent maintenance than the others. Easy to do, just very time consuming. You can take a seat if you’d like, if you’re planning on stick around for a bit.”

“Fun, fun,” the red-head said as she sank to sit opposite the blonde in a mostly unoccupied spot. “So, I happened to hear a rumor from Rogers that you managed to secret away a couple of weapons from the confiscation? What was all that about?”

“He told you?”

“Not really. I overheard him talking with Barnes about it by chance. Something about having another one of those fancy hacking knives of yours and something called a Smart Pistol, I think?”

“Yeah,” Rhiannon admitted with a solemn nod. “They’re both components of the SERE Kit installed in every Vanguard-class Titan.”

“Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape?” Natasha asked, familiar with the acronym and the training regimen that usually went along with it. “You guys have that sort of training too?”

“Mhmm.”

“And I would imagine that Steve has given you back those things now that Stark has lifted the ban?”

“Gave them back even before then,” she said. “Which was surprising.”

“Really? Why?”

“Just didn’t expect it.” She shrugged and unwrapped the sandwich to take the first bite, chewing quickly and speaking only after she had swallowed. “Can do a lot of damage with just a Data Knife and a Smart Pistol.”

“The knife I get, but what’s so special about the gun?” Romanoff asked.

“It’s not loaded with bullets,” Lastimosa explained. “They’re micro-rockets that lock-on to their target. It doesn’t miss so long as there isn’t like a wall between you and who you’re aiming at.”

“Damn,” she whistled out, suddenly wishing that she had something like that in her personal arsenal.

“Yeah. Desperate measures for desperate situations.”

“So, where’d you put them?” Natasha asked.

A stern glint came to the other woman’s gray-green eyes. “No offense, but I’m not going to tell you that. It’s not a matter of not trusting you,” she said. “But Militia protocol states that you don’t tell someone where your holdouts are if they don’t already know.”

“Makes sense, I suppose. But why?”

“For my own personal safety and that of my Titan.”

“Okay. I can respect that.”

“Good.” She swallowed another bite of sandwich, which at this rate wasn’t going to be lasting for very long, and reached for another couple of chips. “I’d like to tell you, but I can’t. Sorry.”

“No, no. I get it,” Natasha was quick to say in assurance, because she did understand. The red-haired spy had weapons stashed everywhere around the Compound, though mostly in her rooms. It was always good to have something on hand when the shit hit the fan. Natasha couldn’t blame Rhiannon for doing the same. “So, I’ve been wondering for a while now… How did you guys end up getting the upper hand on the IMC? I mean, that is, if you’re okay talking about it? I understand if you don’t want...”

“No, no. It’s fine,” Lastimosa said with a wave of one of her hands, which then slowly clenched into a fist and came to rest on one of her knees. “Well, maybe not exactly fine, but I won’t not talk about home just because it hurts a little.”

“That’s very brave of you.”

“Not really. Just… I don’t want to keep anything a secret. I’m here now and you all deserve to know who I am and what I’ve been through,” she explained. “And maybe by telling all of you about it I can keep the Frontier alive. At least in my memories.”

“Okay,” Natasha said slowly, glad to have been given the opportunity to ask her question and have a length conversation with the woman. She did honestly want to be friends with Lastimosa and wanted to get to know about her and where she came from. “Well… You’ve always made it seem like the IMC was the superior military power and the Militia was always fighting on the back foot. What happened to make that change?”

“Yeah. That’s how it was for a long, long time,” Rhiannon began. “All started with the Titan Wars back in 2597. Lots of protests and riots over the illegal seizure of resources from civilians and the poor working conditions in factories and mining operations that pretty quickly turned into full scale warfare.” She paused to eat more of her sandwich, which only had a couple bites worth left. “I was only a kid when it all started. Just eleven years old. The IMC won, but the Militia wasn’t really destroyed. They kept on fighting. Guerrilla tactics and targeted strikes against priority targets. Pirating shipping lanes. Taking out comm relays. That sort of thing.”

“So, that guy that you shot in that first video log we watched,” Natasha prompted. “The one that called you a terrorist. There was a bit of truth to that?”

“A bit, yeah. But they deserved everything they got,” she hissed out, eyes narrowed and flash of her teeth bared into a snarl. “So, fifteen years later and the Frontier War began in earnest. All of our efforts over the course of a couple months culminated in an all-out assault on an IMC refueling station on a planet called Demeter. The gateway between the Core Systems and the Frontier. Our fleet punched through their blockade and we hot dropped onto the surface. James MacAllan, a former IMC Pilot who went AWOL near the end of the Titan Wars, led a team into the main refinery cluster to overload the reactors and blow the place to kingdom come. Without the refinery the transit from the Core to the Frontier would take years instead of just a couple of weeks.”

“And you were there?” the red-haired woman asked.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon said lowly, like she didn’t want to really say it, but wanted to be truthful. “My fireteam was nominated to be part of the vanguard.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“Nearly a third of the planet went nuclear and eighty percent of our attacking force got vaporized when the reactors went. Three of my team amongst them – including the woman I loved – because they chose to stay behind to finish the mission.” Lastimosa glanced down at the metal grating of the floor and took the very last bite of her sandwich, chewing with a noticeable frown on her face, before she swallowed and continued, “I only survived because I got injured and medevaced out.”

“What happened?” Natasha asked. “How’d you get hurt?”

“Titan exploded too close and I got hit with shrapnel. Was touch and go until Dad got the offer from the Advocate and I got shipped to the Regeneration Facility. Skipped from Gen Six to Ten in one procedure. It was the only way to save my sorry, broken ass.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m glad that you made it out alive.” All she got was a low hum in response. “And I’m sure that everyone else is pretty glad that you’re here now too. Everyone likes you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. Barnes and Rogers especially,” Romanoff began, beginning to lay the very first layer of groundwork for the upcoming switch in the conversation. “But I actually think that Stark is pretty hyped to have you with us too. You’re an engineering junkie just like he is. Kindred souls and all that.”

The blonde let out a brief bark of laughter and shook her head wryly. “I doubt it goes that far. I think we’ve spoken all of ten times since I’ve been here and not since he gave me the bad news.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she said. “He might not show it well, but Tony gets attached to the people he chooses to let inside of his walls pretty fast. I’d say you’re well on your way to being one of those.”

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“So, what’s the plan now?” Natasha asked as Lastimosa tilted her head back to dump the remnants of the chip bag into her mouth.

“What do you mean?” she asked in confusion after swallowing, brushing the crumbs off of her coat and beginning to put the little bit of trash that she had made back into the bag.

“I mean what are you going to do about your feelings for Barnes now that you’re sticking around?” she prompted, more than ready to begin her second matchmaking conversation of the day. Steve’s had gone as well as it could have and only time would tell if the second blonde super-soldier would be as receptive to the idea as the first had been. “Would you want to try and have a relationship with him?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s not my place,” she said. “He and Steve…”

“So? Haven’t you ever heard of polyamory?”

“What?”

“Consensually being with more than one person...”

Rhiannon held up her hand and cut her off, “I know what it is. Why are you suggesting it? I’m pretty sure that Barnes doesn’t like me like that and Rogers is in love with him. I can’t get in the middle of that and run the risk of ruining it.”

Natasha had her work cut out for her, didn’t she? Why were they all so difficult to work with? “God, you’re even denser than Steve,” she mumbled as she felt the urge to rub at her temples or place her face into the palm of her hand in exasperation.

“Hey! I heard that.”

Her head snapped up and she narrowed her eyes at the other woman, moving into interrogation mode. “Do you like him?” she asked, or rather demanded. “Are you attracted to him?”

“Who?”

“Steve.”

“We’re… friendly, I guess,” was Lastimosa’s unsatisfactory answer. “He’s a really nice guy and I’d have to be blind to not be attracted to someone who looks as good as he does. But attraction doesn’t mean anything if it isn’t reciprocated.”

“Oh, it’s reciprocated,” Natasha said while resisting the urge to smirk.

“What?”

“He likes you, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s torn between his love for Barnes, his attraction to you and the fact that he thinks that the two of you are well on your way to being together,” Natasha explained bluntly. “And it’s in Steve’s nature to try and step back and allow Barnes to have a chance at happiness with you and give up his own.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Rhiannon began to protest. “We’re not. He doesn’t… I don’t…”

“I know. But maybe that sort of relationship should be something you might try and consider?” the red-haired woman prompted with a softer smile and disposition. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, after all. “Barnes likes you. You like Barnes. Rogers likes you. Rogers likes Barnes. All you have to decide is if you would be willing to try and be with Steve too.”

“I – I don’t know. I hadn’t thought… How can you tell how they feel?”

“I’ve made a living off of reading people for almost my entire life. I can tell,” Natasha Romanoff said with an overabundance of confidence. She wasn’t wrong and she knew it. Now all she had to do was to make Lastimosa see it too. “The foundation is there. All you have to do is decided whether or not you want to take that leap. To be there for Barnes alongside Steve. To rely and lean on each other when you need to. I know that you could probably use that level of support now more than ever. To be happy.”

“I just…” she began, looking conflicted and uncertain, which made Natasha wonder if she had pushed too hard. Had been too forceful with Lastimosa, who for all intents and purposes was still wrestling with her own emotional and mental qualms. Perhaps she should have gone about it a bit more gently?

“Rhiannon, you don’t have to choose right now,” she soothed, switching tactics. “But maybe at some point in the future? When you feel ready for it. This is all just something for you to think about.”

“Yeah…” The blonde ran her eyes over the weapon parts on the floor, her mind probably running at a million miles a minute with all the information that Natasha had just dumped into her lap. “I’m – I think I’m gunna try and get back to work. Do you mind?” she asked with an obvious need to be left alone. A need that Natasha could understand and would respect.

“Of course,” she said, holding out her hand to take the bag of trash from the other woman as a gesture of kindness. “You will think about it, won’t you?”

“I will,” Lastimosa assured her with a sharp nod of her head. “I just… I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. There’s just too much going on up here –” She tapped her forehead with a single finger. “– for me to think about trying to commit myself to a relationship of any sort other than a friendship.”

“And that’s fine. All I ask it that you try to keep an open mind.”

“Okay. I will. And thanks for lunch, Natasha. And the talk, as odd as it was.”

“You’re welcome. See you later?” the red-haired woman asked hopefully “It is New Year’s Eve.”

“Probably,” Rhiannon agreed with a nod. “Soon as I finish this, I’m probably going to call it quits. We can drink some more of that mead tonight if you’re up for it?”

“It’s a date,” Natasha said with a flirtatious wink and sauntered out to the sound of quiet laughter.

She would consider today to have been a successful endeavor.

The seed had been planted and now all she could do was to see if it would take root and grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did someone order a chapter filled to the brim with dialogue? Yes? No? Maybe? Too bad. It's what you got. Very proud of myself with this one. 20 friggin' pages in Word. I was like "God, this is a monster of just people talking! What have I done?" But I think it turned out pretty damn good. Setting so many things up and oooooooooooo the plot furthering and the machinations of Clint and Natasha to bring the trio together. About time, don't ya think? Finally really getting the ball rolling for these three idiots in love. Anywho, happy weekend, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter as much I did writing it.


	24. Chapter 24

**0512 HOURS | JANUARY 13, 2015 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

The way that the Avengers were deployed on a mission was very different than the way that Rhiannon was used to. It had been far from the blaring of klaxons and the flashing lights strobing in cabins and hallways alike. The echoing sound of the ship’s caption barking orders and telling who to meet where over the comm. The noise of hundreds of pairs of boots pounding as everyone reported to their duty stations. Technically, she supposed that she could’ve slept through it all this time, but the sound of all the other doors in the hall opening and closing with some degree of urgency had roused her from sleep.

A quick glance at the clock had revealed the time to be not even quarter past five in the morning. Very early for this group, of which most didn’t get out of bed until after eight at the earliest willingly.

Still clad in her pajamas, Rhiannon stuck her head out of her door and happened to catch the eye of Natasha through a muffled yawn. The red-haired woman was dressed in a svelte jumpsuit of black with faint accent lines of electric blue and had a medium-sized bag slung over one of her shoulders.

No one else was in the hall.

“What’s going on?” she asked, catching sight of Barnes, who was sticking his own head out for the same reasons she was most likely. “You guys going somewhere?”

The shorter woman hummed in affirmation, looking particularly bright-eyed for someone who likely had rolled out of bed no more than ten minutes beforehand. “Just got confirmation from J.A.R.V.I.S. about a HYDRA Base down in Columbia. We’re heading out in the Quinjet as soon as everyone is ready to go.”

“Oh.”

There was a mission. An Avengers mission.

“Do you need us?” Barnes asked as he exited out into the hall and made his way over.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s pretty small, but still active and staffed. I’d bet that we probably won’t even need Bruce to transform,” Natasha said, her green eyes flicking back and forth between them both with a knowing and sympathetic expression. “And, in any case, you two haven’t officially decided to join the Team yet. And I know that Steve doesn’t want to make either of you fight if you truly don’t want to. So, no. You guys are staying here.”

Rhia was almost immediately conflicted. She wasn’t troubled by that just-woke-up grogginess any longer. No. Now she was filled with the desire to fight. The faintest spark of adrenaline that had easily got her heart picking up its pace in excitement. She wanted to do something. To prove her worth and earn her spot with these people who had opened their arms to her without question. But she also understood Natasha’s reasoning, which most likely also came from Steve. Better to have them fully agree to be part of the Avengers in the chance that something went awry. To be fully committed to fighting alongside the others and ready to do whatever it was that the mission entailed.

And Rhiannon wasn’t quite sure if she was ready to pledge herself to the defense of a planet and a people that weren’t her own. She liked all of the Avengers, sure, and would come to their aid, but that didn’t mean she was ready to risk herself for just anyone else.

She was sure that Barnes was also grappling with his own reservations about the issue. Since the offer had been made at Christmas, Rhia had been thinking about it. And yet, she was no closer to an answer.

“Well, if nothing else we can come and see you all off,” Rhia decided to say. It was the least she could do. Say goodbye to everyone else, wish them luck, tell them to kick ass and all that jazz.

And so, they did. Dressing for the early morning weather as quickly as they could and accompanying the shorter woman out to the hangar where the others had gathered in the pre-dawn darkness. The Quinjet had been humming along as it warmed up. A group of four – Steve, Sam, Thor and Clint – were hard at work trying to shovel off a section of the tarmac so that the craft could taxi out smoothly before making the transition over to VTOL.

It was an unfamiliar feeling seeing off a team without being sent into the field herself. Something that did not happen often back home. A quick glance over at Barnes seemed that the feeling was somewhat shared. He looked bothered. Not quite upset, annoyed or irritated, but something similar enough. But not too long afterwards she and Barnes were standing out in the snow and slush, watching as the faint lights on the tips of the Quinjet’s wings vanishing into the darkness.

After one unusually early and very subdued breakfast, which was followed by the disappearance of Barnes off to somewhere else in the Compound without a single word, Rhia found herself once again seeking solace within the dropship. She had a strong desire to be productive and there was little else she could think of to do but fiddle and fuss over the contents of the ship. Reading a book or watching any amount of TV would do little to keep her occupied. And she had no urge to go to the gym, though she had an inkling that was where her metal-armed companion had vanished off to. Though, in a stroke of genius, she had remembered that the paints for RA-5172 had finally arrived and perhaps it was about time that her Vanguard-class got his makeover.

But the heart of the matter was that she was worried. Anxious, even, if the restless and almost twitchy feeling was any indication. She needed to keep herself busy to distract herself from the thoughts that the majority of the people she had formed a connection with would be throwing themselves into harms way that day. That she wouldn’t be there to keep them safe. All because of her own uncertainty. It was something that occupied her mind, amidst all of the other decisions that were currently on her plate, as she got to work.

Should she join the Team? What sort of reaction would she receive from the public at large? Rhia knew just as well as anyone that the Avengers had an enormous presence in global social media. If she chose to step up and put herself into that spotlight then all of the world would know about her. They would know who she was and where she came from. They would ask questions and make judgements, which for the most part she was certain she could deal with after a period of adjustment. But was she brave enough to make that first step and accept the offer?

She didn’t know.

The offers made by Stark were also on her docket. The job would be welcome, but if she declined being on the Team then how comfortable would she be watching from the sidelines? She wouldn’t be. Rhia knew that much. How could she watch others that she cared for throw themselves at danger when she was too fucking cowardly to do the same. She couldn’t. If she said yes to one, she would have to say yes to the other. There was no work around for that.

The citizenship paperwork was a moot point, to intertwined with the others that it was in the same boat. To accept one meant to accept them all. Though, admittedly, Rhia couldn’t help but wonder about how Tony planned to manage acquiring documentation for her.

And then, of course, there was the whole Barnes and Rogers thing. Rhia would have been lying if her decision partly rested on sorting through the muddled mix of feelings for the two men. The conversation with Natasha had got her thinking. It had her paying far more attention to them when they were nearby. Seeing the looks they were giving each other when they thought the other wasn’t paying attention. Rhia had bore witness to the supposedly discreet way their attentions would shift between the other and her whenever she did something in the room.

But the idea of trying to be in the relationship with not just one of them, which was something she had longed for but never dared to try, but both of them. True enough they could return to their romance with each other, but what would her role be? How could it possibly work? She did not want to be some third-wheel. And, despite Natasha’s reassurances that Barnes felt for her as she did for him and Steve’s apparent attraction to her, Rhia was still filled with innumerable doubts.

She was in love with James Barnes. Rhiannon knew the feeling as surely as she knew the subtle chilling tingle in the back of her mind whenever the neural link between RA-5172 and herself was established. It was always there, but sometimes it just became impossible to ignore. She also knew that she and Steve had become friends during her time at the Compound. They’d talked, laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, both with and without Barnes in the room. Steve was a startlingly attractive man and had a personality that she enjoyed, but did that make it right for her to assume that they would be compatible in a relationship beyond that of friendship?

Rhiannon hadn’t been in a committed romantic relationship since Abby had died on Demeter. Six years of only seeking physical comfort through a series of one-night stands and more than a few attempts at maintaining a couple of friends-with-benefits sorts of arrangements. Most of those had failed. Though, by some miracle she had remained good friends with most of them over the years.

At least, with those who hadn’t been marked as KIA at a later date.

But it was just too much to think about. She was just going around and around in circles trying to find these seemingly impossible answers. Not to mention that she still wasn’t even close to being done mourning the loss of the sphere. The destruction of her only possible ticket back to the Frontier. To the point of distraction that, although she diligently continued to spray over her Titan’s chassis with the base coat of dark green with precision, she failed to hear Rome trying to talk to her. She was so lost in the turmoil of her mind that it wasn’t until the third attempt to catch her attention that she finally heard him speaking through the internal speakers of her helmet.

“Pilot, are you in distress?” the Vanguard-class was asking, sounding as concerned as a robot could. “Your vitals have spiked to a level well above your normal resting rates.”

And true enough she was breathing a bit more heavily than she ought to be and she could feel the rapid thrum of her heart through her ribcage. “No, Rome,” Rhia said, making a concerted effort to calm herself down. “I’m alright now.”

But he wasn’t buying it and she could both see and feel him focusing in on her.

“No, you are not,” he said. “Tell me what is bothering you, please.”

“Just thinking,” she offered as an explanation, but knew that he would continue to press for answers.

“About?”

“Things,” she said vaguely, but began to consider that talking thing over with her Titan might not be the most horrible thing in the world. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t spoken with him about things that were troubling her before this point in time. Just somehow all of this felt more difficult to bring up than anything else had.

“Rhiannon, that is unhelpful and an avoidance tactic,” he admonished. “It will not work on me.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Rome,” she said, leaning back from her work for a moment and settling in more comfortably where she had perched herself next to one of his back-mounted armatures. “Just... I don’t know what to do about all of this. What do you think we should do?”

“Should I assume that this is regards to Captain Rogers’ offer to join the Avengers?” he asked and she nodded her head, before realizing that he probably couldn’t really see her. Most Titan’s had a pretty enormous visual blind spot directly behind them.

“Yeah,” she said. “And all of that stuff from Stark that I told you about.”

Her Titan only spent a fraction of second in thought over the series of decisions that Rhiannon was facing before announcing, “You should accept.”

“Really? That simple?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, big man,” she said challengingly. “Explain your reasoning. Enlighten me with your wisdom.” But the answer she received was not what she had been expecting.

“They are your friends and they make you happy.” Rhia didn’t have the words to respond to that. It was so far out of the range of what she had thought Rome would say. But luckily enough the Titan still had more to say. “There are many other more logical options as to why you should accept, of course. But I believe this to be the most important one amongst them all.”

“Really?” she asked quietly, thinking over the implications that even her Titan thought she should stay. She could no longer deny that she wanted to. Rhia wanted with every fiber of her being to say yes and accept every offer, but her irrational fears and the still fresh longing for home made it seem impossible. There was just too much. Too many what ifs that she felt compelled to consider.

“Yes,” RA-5172 said bluntly and with conviction.

Her head tilted to the side and she brushed her fingertips affectionately over a part of her Titan that she had yet to paint. “And when did you get this proficient with understanding human emotions?”

“I have been speaking extensively with J.A.R.V.I.S. about our shared experiences with humans. But it was not a particularly difficult answer from my perspective. I want only for your safety and happiness. This is the clearest path to achieving both objectives.”

“Wish it had been that easy for me,” Rhia murmured.

“You were overthinking it, Rhiannon. We cannot change our situation, so we must make the best of it with the options we have available to us.”

And she couldn’t argue with him. He was right. Rhia would have run herself ragged trying to find some other way. Made herself unhappy and stressed and likely to run into an early death chasing after things that were just not within her reach. But here at the Compound, in the company of all of these wonderful people, she did honestly believe she could make a new home for herself with a great deal of effort and bravery. All she had to do was say yes.

“What would I do without you, Rome?” she asked rhetorically in a whispery exhale of breath, feeling so grateful to have her Titan. To have someone who understood her on nearly every level after all of their years together. With her emotions continuing to be on a hair-trigger, Rhia can feel a bit of dampness gathering around her eyes. But she does not truly cry. There are no true tears. Not of sadness or joy. Just a bit of wetness in the corners that does not fall as she takes a shaky inhale and tilts her head back to stare up at the ceiling of the cargo bay.

Her Titan does not reply and Rhiannon slowly but surely begin to continue her task. First came the coat of green, then the accents and then finally using the gifted stencils to replace all of the decals, logos, lettering and numbers that identified and decorated RA-5172’s hull. She still was consumed by the act of thinking, considering Rome’s input into her decisions, and sought to immerse herself in the therapeutic lull that painting managed to generate.

Maybe she should say yes after all.

Maybe she would be brave.

Maybe she could do it.

* * *

It had been six hours and twenty-four minutes since the Quinjet had left and Bucky still found himself hopelessly distracted and meticulously keeping track of the passage of time. An all too familiar feeling had taken him over. The worry and anxiety he had felt all throughout his adult life before HYDRA had beaten and frozen all of his emotions out of him.

All for Steve.

The same feeling that he got every time one sickness or another had Stevie laid out on his back and on the verge of death. The same feeling when he’d been drafted and knew that he wouldn’t be able to be there for that little blonde punk when he needed him. Even during the war and after Steve got big, there was always a constant need to make sure that the dumbass was as safe as he could be in a war zone. All of the times that Bucky had been peering through the scope of his rifle, sending bullets down range at anyone who thought to try and get the drop on Captain America when his back was turned.

There was one time when Bucky distinctly remembered having been shot in the leg. Injured enough to be held back in London while the rest of the Commandos had been sent back out into the fray. The fear and worry that he had felt that week. Only a week without Steve and it had almost unraveled him.

And now it was back with a vengeance

After eating a quick and quiet breakfast in Rhia’s company, he had retreated. Sought solace in his room and time to digest everything he was thinking and feeling. It was sure to put him in a poor mood. Worry would turn into irrational anger and he was liable to lash out. The only one there to bear the brunt of his attacks was Rhiannon and he refused to do that to her again.

No, he would pace about his apartment like a caged animal until he had everything under control. But the plan had backfired quite spectacularly in those first few hours of self-isolation. Even after relocating to the gym to try and physically exert himself into a calmer state, Bucky had found himself stuck in a downward spiral of trying to think about too many things all at once. Driven down and down and down by his worries and insecurities with no clear answers or any sort of end in sight.

And at the center of that maelstrom? The focus of it all?

Rhiannon and Steve.

And it was all Barton’s fault.

Two weeks had passed since that conversation with the archer and all Bucky had found himself thinking about was everything that had been said during it. All of the things that had been said by Barton and those that had been said by himself. His opinions hadn’t changed in any dramatic way since then. He was still a killer. Still unworthy of even hoping for a bit of happiness for himself. However, he was beginning to acknowledge the fact that both of the blonds that he cared about more than anyone else in the world were in love with him.

Steve had been a given, but seeing the now obvious signs in Rhiannon had come as a surprise. Not an unwelcome one, but a definite surprise nonetheless, and he didn’t know what to do about it. All of his perceived opinions about himself still rang undeniably true. He didn’t deserve their love. He had been nothing more than a cold-blooded murderer for decades. It wasn’t right for him to just lay down and accept the fact that two incredibly wonderful and kind-hearted people like them would choose to settle for someone like him.

But God damn him if he didn’t want it more than anything else.

He knew… He knew that he couldn’t allow himself to be with them, but the heart wants what the heart wants and the idea presented by Barton had taken root. Being with the both of them? Loving and being loved by both of those beautiful blonds. It would’ve have been a dream come true. Like waking up that morning after that particular terrible nightmare, wedged between the two and perfectly content.

But that was an unrealistic hope. One that he couldn’t allow to have more power than it already did.

The hope that somehow and someway everything would work out.

Yeah, right.

Like that was ever going to happen.

And around and around the thoughts and arguments with himself went as he moved from running on a treadmill to lifting weights to beating the ever-loving shit out of a heavy bag. And sometimes those main thoughts were joined by others for a few fleeting moments. Just to add more difficulty and complexity to his already overworked and agitated mind.

The offer to join the Avengers alongside Rhiannon, which could be a way for him to seek at least some sense of redemption. To do something meaningful and good with the abilities that had been forced upon him, despite the fact that his desire to fight and be in an active combat situation was practically nonexistent. He didn’t want to fight anymore. He didn’t want to have to kill people. But HYDRA was still out there and, according to what he had heard around the Compound, a whole slew of other villainous organizations that didn’t give a damn what sort of damage they might cause to the innocent.

Was it selfish of him to not want to try and protect other people? To be as strong and capable as he was and to choose to not use those talents for good now that he possessed the mental capacity and freedom to do so?

Then, of course, there was the possible court case in his future that had been mentioned by Steve nearly a month ago, which he would much rather avoid at all costs. He was guilty. There were no if and or buts about it. But as much as confessing to his crimes and await his judgment under the law would have been the proper and honorable thing to do, Bucky had no desire to spend the rest of his days locked away.

Or dead.

Though… Sometimes he let his thoughts run wild when he was alone and he had to wonder if everything would’ve been easier if he was dead. Bucky didn’t think that his healing abilities could bring him back from a fatal gunshot wound. In those months before meeting Rhiannon, especially during the trip across the Atlantic, he’d found himself with a gun in his hands and wondering if he should do it. But he hadn’t. There had always been a little voice in the back of his mind that always told him not to do it. That suicide was the choice of a coward.

After all, if he had taken that final step, he wouldn’t have been able to meet Rhiannon. Wouldn’t have had the chance to see Steve again with a significantly clearer mind. Enough to know who he was, what they had been and what they had experienced together.

But Bucky was knocked out of his thoughts suddenly. Shaking himself back into reality when he went to pull back his left arm and couldn’t do so easily. He focused in on the heavy bag he had been venting his frustrations on and found that he had punched straight through the thick outer layer of fabric. And this was one of the supposedly Steve-proof punching bags that Stark had invented and he had just trashed it.

A stronger tug of his arm, accompanied by the faintest hissing of the prosthetic’s internal systems and the clicking of the external plating, and his clenched fist popped out with an audible rip. A river of sand immediately began to flood out of the hole and splatter across the floor.

“Well, that’s just swell,” he mumbled. “Great. Fuckin’ fantastic. Well done, Barnes.” He jabbed at the growing pile of sand with one of his feet and began to wonder where he would be able to find a broom and a shovel to clean it up.

“Sergeant Barnes, if I may interrupt?” Stark’s AI suddenly said.

“Yeah… Go ahead, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Captain Lastimosa would like me to tell you that it is time for lunch if you should wish to join her,” he announced. “In addition, there is a supply closet with cleaning equipment in it just down the hall. Third door on the right.”

How convenient.

“Tell Rhia that I’ll be there soon,” Bucky said, knowing that he ought to eat something and was currently feeling well enough to risk being around Rhiannon without snapping. “Just gotta clean this up first.”

“I will let her know.”

And when Bucky eventually found his way into the shared kitchen, which was more well stocked with ingredients and groceries than any of their smaller kitchens, he found Rhia at the stovetop. One of the larger frying pans was set onto a burner and the smell of grilled sandwiches wafted in the air, while a pot sat on another and was simmering away with what looked like soup. The cooking woman, her hair piled up in a messy bun and dressed in comfortably loose clothes, glanced up the moment he walked in.

“Hey,” she greeted simply, looking relived that he had actually shown up.

“Hi,” he returned, feeling an uncomfortable sort of weight in the room, even as he resisted the urge to give a little wave with one of his hands. That would’ve been silly, but for some reason he now felt almost sheepish and embarrassed by choosing to avoid her company for so many hours.

“Hope grilled ham and cheeses with some tomato-basil soup is alright with you?” Rhia asked as she turned away to tend to the food, slowing stirring the contents of the pot and flipping one of the two sandwiches in the pan. “It was the easiest thing I could come up with that I was pretty sure I couldn’t ruin somehow.”

“It’s fine,” he said, wandering closer without truly meaning to. He ought to try to keep his distance, but like a planet falling into orbit around a star he was unable to resist the force of gravity. Her gravity, just like Steve’s, was just too strong. “It smells good.”

“Good,” she said with a faint smile. “Do you want to get some plates and bowls out? Please?”

“Sure.” And Bucky did just that, basking in the domesticity of doing something so mundane.

“So… What have you been up to?” she asked after a minute of heavy silence, pulling the first pair of sandwiches out of the pan and preparing two more.

“In the gym.”

She hummed in acknowledgement. “I thought as much.”

“And you?” he asked.

“In the ship,” she said. “Got started on repainting Rome.”

“I’m sure he’s enjoying that.”

“He is,” she said with a broader smile appearing on her face. “There’s just a bit of vanity hidden away somewhere in his programming, but it makes him unique.”

Sure. Unique was a fair descriptor for the Vanguard-class Titan.

Several minutes later and with a plate full of sandwiches and a bowl full of soup the pair were sat in the living room with the TV playing quietly in the background. Neither was paying any attention to the news reports on the screen, focusing on their food and whatever happened to come to mind while they ate. So, it came as a surprise when Rhiannon chose to speak after finishing her first grilled ham and cheese and taking a drink from her glass of water.

“J.A.R.V.I.S, are there any updates on the mission?” she asked. “If you can tell us, that is.”

“Captain Rogers actually insisted that I provide mission updates to you both, should you choose to ask for them,” the AI responded quickly. “The Quinjet has landed in Columbia, at a safe distance from the enemy base, and they are currently formalizing their plan of attack as Agents Romanoff and Barton have returned from performing a quick reconnaissance sweep. I would expect them to begin their assault within the next half an hour or so, should everything continue as planned.”

“What are they looking at? Enemy numbers?” Bucky asked.

“Somewhere between a hundred to two hundred personnel, though a majority of them are thought to be non-combatants. This base had been the source of several shipments of alien-technology augmented weaponry and recon has revealed that it is more of a factory and storage facility than a military base.”

“Doesn’t mean that it isn’t going to be dangerous,” Rhia said with a deep frown on her face, stirring idly at the contents of her bowl with a spoon as she looked off through the windows. “Could even be more so if they’re making weapons.”

“I assure you,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “Captain Rogers and the others have taken that into consideration. Is there anything else you might like to know? I am at full liberty to share any and all information I have access to at this point in time.”

Bucky opened his mouth to reply, to say that he didn’t want to know more. Just that little amount of information had all of his worries returning with full force. But before he could do so, Rhiannon beat him to the punch.

“No, I think it will be better if we don’t know all of the details,” she said. “Just keep up in the loop. Let us know when they attack and when they’re done and one their way back.”

“Of course,” the British-accented artificial intelligence easily agreed. “I can certainly do that.”

They slowly began to continue eating as J.A.R.V.I.S. fell silent with the end of the conversation. It was only when the both of them were done that Rhiannon leaned back in her chair and adjusted herself just so that she was facing towards him.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” she asked. “About them?”

“So are you,” he said. Just as easily as she had read him – the shifting and twitching and the habitual clenching of his metal hand – he had seen through her façade of calm. The fiddling pattern of her spoon, flipping it over and through her fingers with the same finesse she would have with a knife. The sightless stare out of the window to the frozen lake and snow-blanketed forest beyond.

“I am” she admitted with a nod of her head, a slight bounce coming to one of her bent knees. “And I’ve been doing some thinking. Talking things over with Rome for his opinions on things.”

“About?”

Her face contorted at the question – brows furrowed, nose scrunched and lips pulled thin – as the spoon stilled in her hands. She looked away for a moment as dread began to swim in his gut at what Rhia might be preparing herself to say. And then she looked back with a heady and powerful sort of conviction – a profound determination – shining in her gray-green eyes.

“I’m going to say yes.”

“Yes? To what?”

“To joining the Avengers,” she continued, her leg falling still but he could see all of the muscles in her shoulder and neck tensing even as she spoke. Like she was forcing herself to get all of it out in one go. To not baulk and stop herself before she went farther than a point she could withdraw from. “To Stark’s job offer and to getting the proper paperwork to be able to live here on Earth legally. All of it. I’m going to say yes to all of it. I can’t…. I can’t leave now. I’m stuck here and I’ve gotten too close. To all of them. To all of you. I can’t stand this waiting behind stuff while they go off and fight. I have to say yes.”

Bucky sucked in a breath at Rhia’s tirade. He was shocked. Stunned, more accurately. He both had and hadn’t expected her to just come out and say something like that. But, somehow, a fragment of her bravery must have been contagious and he felt the need to speak. To add his own decision to the mix.

“I might do it too,” he murmured under his breath, feeling far from as bold as Rhia had been, but just bold enough to get the words out.

“What?” she asked with a tilt of her head.

“I might join the Team too. I just…”

“Barnes, you don’t have to,” she interrupted, sitting up straighter and with her hands coming part of the way up into the air. “Really. Just because I’m joining doesn’t mean…”

“It’s not because of you,” he snapped, but instantly regretted it as she flinched back into the cushions of her chair. “It’s not _just_ because of you,” he corrected in softer tone of voice as he looked down at his legs to avoid the lingering hurt in her eyes. “I – I have all of this training and the serum giving me all of these abilities and now I’m free to use them how I want to. I don’t want to fight. To kill. But it’s what I’m good at now. All I’m good for.”

She began to open her mouth to argue, “That is…”

“Let me finish. Please,” he begged as he glanced back up at her. “I don’t know if I can do it. Even when we attacked at HYDRA Base in the mountains, I wasn’t a hundred percent positive that I would be able to see it through to the end. But I feel better now. I really do. And I want to try to do something good with what’s left of my life.” He paused to take a breath, to calm the racing of his mind so that he could get it all out coherently. “And you’re right, I’ve grown close to the other’s too and I want to do my part to keep them safe. To keep Steve safe, just like I used to.”

There was a very small, but incredibly warm, smile curling at her lips. “That’s very brave of you.”

“Maybe. I think you’re being more courageous than I am.”

“Perhaps,” Rhia said vaguely, before a more serious look came to her eyes. “And if anything, you can suggest that you try to have something like a trial period on the Team? Do a few easier missions and see how things feel? Have the option to say no to missions when you’re not feeling up for them.”

It was a good idea and Bucky agreed with her suggestions. It was something he would have to talk about with Steve when he got back. But with their decisions made, the pair got up from their seats and went back into the kitchen to clean up after themselves. It didn’t take long, but Bucky began to notice that there was a certain amount of energy to Rhiannon’s step that hadn’t been there earlier. However, before he could ask what had caused it, she turned to him with a particularly devious glint in her eye.

“So, we’ve got all of the ammo for the guns back now. What do you say that we go and find the firing range that is supposedly somewhere in the building and see if we still know how to shoot?”

“I doubt that two people with as much experience as we’ve had could forget how to fire a gun.”

“Yes, but we’re out of practice, Barnes,” she said. “And there’s a certain amount of therapy to be found in sending a few mags worth of rounds down range. I feel like I might need a bit of that right now.”

He didn’t really need much convincing and willingly followed her lead without argument. Any sort of distraction at this point was more than welcome and there were still quite a few firearms in Rhiannon’s arsenal that he had yet to shoot. It would be a good waste of a couple hours while they waited to hear from J.A.R.V.I.S. about how the Team was doing. At this rate they most likely wouldn’t be back until later in the day. Maybe even at some point into the night?

“You know,” he began as they walked, feeling the need to put it out there for her consideration. “You can start calling me Bucky, if you want to.”

“Gotten sick of me calling you by your last name?” she asked with a glance over her shoulder.

“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “But you let me call you Rhia, so I think it’s about time that I returned the offer. Even the playing field.”

“I’ll think about it,” she said with a smile that made his heart beat just a little bit faster. “Bucky.”

* * *

The mission had been an overall success. No serious injuries and the HYDRA forces had been entirely routed by their attack. Most were dead and those who had survived or surrendered had been taken into custody by international law enforcement.

It had taken slightly longer than Steve had been hoping for but, with the Quinjet only a half an hour out from the Compound and it only being quarter after nine at night, he was more than satisfied. He shifted in his seat, flinching slightly at the sudden sting of the healing wound on his calf. Just a bullet graze from an unlucky ricochet, but it had been deep enough that it wasn’t entirely gone yet and still hurt when he moved his leg too abruptly or put too much weight onto it. More annoying than painful.

And he was the only one who had been wounded, which all of the others had been sure to point out after the fact. But now in the lull after the fact – the rest and relaxation that all of them tried to find on the flights back – Steve found his mind straying to other topics rather than the logistical challenges that came after every mission. Not the paperwork he would have to do or the follow-ups he would have to do to make sure that those that had been captured were secured appropriately.

No. He thought about Bucky. He thought about Rhiannon. And inevitably he ended up thinking about the ideas that had been brought to mind by his conversation with Natasha on New Year’s.

J.A.R.V.I.S. had told him that they had asked after the Team.

That had been more comforting that he had been expecting it to be. To know that they wanted to keep in touch and be aware of what was happening.

He had done a bit of the research that Romanoff had suggested and was on the verge of considering the option of trying to pursue a relationship with the both of them. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to commit. Some unlabeled thing kept him from stepping over the line. Just stuck on the edge and looking over the cliff. Wondering what might happen when he finally took that leap.

Memories of that sunny morning after Bucky’s nightmare came to mind. Steve couldn’t deny that more of those sorts of mornings would be more than welcome. That heavenly sensation of waking up to find both Bucky and Rhiannon – the beautiful and incredibly strong woman that she was – in his arms. Like a dream that he might just have the opportunity to make a reality.

Steve found himself occupied with those sorts of benign fantasies for the final thirty minutes of their flight back home. He wouldn’t dare to think of anything more risqué in the company of the others, keeping himself well away from anything that posed a risk to his dignity. Though, that had hardly any power to stop his imagination when he allowed it to wander freely and the frankly filthy scenarios that his deprived mind came up with when he dreamed.

It had been so long and there was only so much his hand could do to take the edge off.

But luckily the Quinjet landed shortly afterward, before he could go down that particularly forbidden rabbit hole, and with his shield and helmet in hand he followed after the others as they disembarked. His walk was slightly slower than usual and had a faint limp that he was doing his best to ignore. It was well past sunset and the darkness only illuminated by the floodlights and the faint glow of the few rooms in the Compound’s main building that were on.

“I’d have thought Barnes and Lastimosa would’ve been here to greet us,” Romanoff commented as she sidled up on his right side.

“Maybe they’re busy,” he suggested.

“With what?” Natasha asked.

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’re makin’ something good for dinner,” Sam prompted as he fell in on Steve’s other side. “I’m starved after having such a pathetic breakfast and lunch.”

Steve felt his own stomach gurgle silently at the thought of food. “That would be nice,” he agreed.

They made their way inside, knocking the slush from their boots at the door, and welcoming the warmth of the building’s heating system. There was a distant cheer that sounded like Thor that made the trio bringing up the rear hasten their pace to see what was happening.

“Ha! Called it!” Wilson crowed as he waltzed into the room, taking in the table fully set with plates and silverware and the scent of something delicious cooking. Rhiannon was hard at work with something over the stovetop and Bucky was just finishing setting out drinking glasses at each of the place mats.

“Honey, I’m home!” Tony called as he wandered into the kitchen, nosily attempting to peer over the blonde woman’s shoulder to see what she was cooking. “What are you making, dearest?”

“Rat poison,” was Rhia’s deadpan reply as she foisted a pair of tongs menacingly and snapped them just before the billionaire’s nose. The occupants of the room laughed as Stark flinched away and leapt backwards from danger and Steve even caught a glimpse of a smile on Bucky’s face across the room. “It’s just stir fry again. Just with chicken this time instead of lamb.” She ran an eye over them all. “Now you all need to go and get cleaned up because you stink and this still needs time to finish cooking.”

Surprisingly, it was Thor who stepped up to answer with a gallant and theatrical bow. “Very well, my lady! We shall heed your command and freshen ourselves. But when I return shall I tell you of our deeds on this day?” he asked curiously. “It will make a fair tale to be told over our evening meal.”

“Sure, Thor. I’d love to hear it,” she said as the other began to leave the room, but her eyes quickly snapped over towards him. “Except for you, Steve. Could you stay for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said as he adjusted himself to lean up against a wall and take some of the weight off his clipped leg. Thankfully it would all be over and done without by the morning.

And then the shared living space was empty except for the three of them and a sort of nervousness began to crawl its way up his spine. What was it that Rhiannon wanted? Did she have something to say? Was it about the offer to join the Avengers? Was she leaving? Had Natasha talked to her too? It was definitely something that Romanoff would do to try and stack the odds in her favor.

But it was Bucky who spoke first. “Where is it?”

“What?” he asked in confusion.

“Where'd you get injured?” Rhiannon asked, snapping the tongs threateningly once again.

“I’m not…”

“I can smell the blood, Steve,” Bucky announced as he walked closed, his arms cross over his sweatshirt-clad chest. “And I can see the rip in your pants.”

He looked down at the mention of the hole in his latest suit and sure enough the bold and crisp white of a bandage was peeking through the break in the dark blue fabric. “It’s just a bullet graze and it’s half healed already; I swear.”

Their eyes narrowed in near synchronicity and Steve felt a chill run down his back at the similarities between the two in that moment. But he couldn’t say that a small part of him liked it.

“If you say so,” Rhia said slowly, turning back to the stove to tend to her hissing and sizzling creation. “Well, Bucky and I just wanted to let you know – before everyone else – that we did some thinking today while you were all gone.”

“And?”

“We’re going to accept your offer,” Rhia began.

“To join the Avengers,” Bucky finished.

All at once Steve was both elated by their decision and concerned about it as well.

Did they really mean it?

I mean it was great from a tactical standpoint, but the both of them had to realize that they didn’t have to join the Team. No one was forcing them to. It was purely on the voluntary basis.

“We do have some stipulations that we want to iron out beforehand, mostly in Bucky’s case,” Rhiannon said with a gesture to the dark-haired man who bowed his head in solemn agreement. “But we’re all in, Captain.”

A smile began to find its way onto his face and he stepped away from the wall to extend an open hand, which was a bit on the dirty side, to the woman. She met his hand with her own and they firmly shook and squeezed each other’s hands.

“It’ll be a pleasure to have you on the team,” he said lowly, unable to help himself from making it just the slightly bit like an attempt at seduction. “Captain.” Steve turned his head to catch Bucky’s own gaze. “And you as well, Sergeant.”

“Just like old times, Stevie?”

“Just like old times, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *maximum effort noise* Sorry for the delay on this one, folks. Real life came and kicked my ass this week. But here is Chapter 24 for your reading pleasure. Not much to say about it all except they be thinking real hard and coming to some decisions about things. But it's still progress!
> 
> Also, side note for those of you who may be interested in contributing to a little thing I've been thinking about: Titanfall 2 the game is currently on sale on the gaming platform Steam for PC. I've purchased it to play with some IRL friends, but if ANY of you are interested or have the game already for PC (or Xbox too). I will be making a Network that you can join if you'd like to. You don't have to talk in any way, but if you want to hang or game with me or any one else and talk about anything and everything, story related or not. Information will be soon to follow and will be posted on my profile page here on AO3. Thank you! And even if you don't want to talk, I'd say for you to consider maybe trying the game out for yourself. It's loads of fun!


	25. Chapter 25

**1418 HOURS | JANUARY 29, 2015 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

When it came to light, during the evening meal on that day, that Rhiannon Lastimosa and James Barnes had accepted the offer to join the Avengers there was much celebration. As there should have been, Thor thought in hindsight, looking back fondly on the moment. He had swept the blonde woman into his arms and spun her around in joyous glee to sounds of her raucous laughter and clapped the dark-haired and metal-armed man on the back. A new shield-sister and shield-brother to join forces with on the battlefield and to enjoy the company of in those quieter times between their missions.

From the deplorable circumstances the pair had endured in the past, both recently and long ago, the Asgardian Prince was more than certain the two deserved to be counted amongst their number. Not just for their combat prowess, which was more than impressive from what the God of Thunder had seen, but for the safety and comfort he believed would be available to them by being encompassed into a group of such like-minded souls.

And, of course, for the connection that was beginning to be forged between the trio of super-soldiers. Right beneath Thor’s very eyes and the eyes of all of those who had been inducted into the team of well-meaning matchmakers. The mighty Prince was more than familiar with the concept. There were quite a few of such people amongst the populations of Asgard and Vanaheim and even Alfheim. Those who sought to help other find their best matches. To find those that they could spend the centuries with in harmony and unwavering love.

Thor truly believed that Steven, James and the Lady Rhiannon would make quite an invincible triad.

Already there was signs that the two other blonds were growing closer and spending more and more time in each other’s company. And yet, not all things were well in the realms of romance and Thor was feeling that perhaps it was his time to intervene in the situation. He saw that this exact moment was as good of an opportunity as he could’ve asked for from the Norns.

Banner and Barton had both gone to the market on a supply run. A most necessary task. And the Black Widow was in an important meeting with various contacts of hers from around the globe in an effort to gather valuable intelligence about their enemies. With those three temporarily out of contention it was the decision of Captain Rogers to host a team building exercise for those who were still available, to be later joined by the international spies. For that very purpose a part of the Compound that had yet to utilized was now being put through its paces.

A massive and highly sophisticated basement facility beneath the main building that even branched out even further underneath the ground. Another miraculous brain child of Stark’s creation meant for their full usage. There were, in essence, only two rooms to this additional complex. The first of these was an expansive weapons range. Though, Thor did not think that he would be making particular use of that series of chambers. They were geared towards the usage of Midgardian firearms and he had no desire to use such a weapon.

His fists, Mjölnir and the lightning he could wield were more than enough to topple any foe.

However, the second of these rooms was the true marvel. Much like the sparring ring in the gymnasium on the upper floors, this was designed as a supposedly safe place for fighting. And yet, it was far larger and more intricately engineered than its counterpart. The seemingly bare and featureless room was nearly a furlong in length, approximately half that in width with a ceiling high enough to allow easy flight. Thick columns, which were a structural necessity according to Stark, supported the space at even intervals and there was a screen from which you could alter the very layout of the arena.

The Asgardian was more than certain that it was actually the one known as J.A.R.V.I.S. who was the one to implement the radical changes that could be summoned with a push of a button.

Even now from an elevated viewing and control chamber situated high above the room, Thor watched as ledges slid out from the walls and several series of tiered platforms rose from the flooring as per Stark’s creation’s design. It had become a veritable obstacle course that they could freely perform their mock battles within. But for the opening rounds it was decided that they would stick to pairs for the combat drills. Matches of two versus two, with a change of combatants after every victory or defeat. And so, by random lottery, the God of Thunder had found himself partnered with Sergeant Barnes for their first day of combat trials.

However, the first match was to be held between the other two pairings. Captain Rogers and Stark versus the Lady Rhiannon and Samuel Wilson, the one otherwise known as the Falcon. With one capable of flight and one super-soldier per team, as was only right to make the fight both fair and honorable. And it was to that very same end there had been other restrictions put into place. Those who wielded firearms would carry mock weapons that fired only small, non-lethal pellets. Stark, in turn, had downgraded his weaponry to only stun those he hit with his multitude of beams and lasers, but still had full access to his own usually non-lethal countermeasures.

Thor was certain that he could follow in the billionaire’s footsteps and tone his own abilities down to a safe measure for these bouts. It would be in poor taste to risk seriously injuring one of his far more physically fragile allies and friends.

But those who carried specialized equipment – such as Steven’s shield, Wilson’s wings and the majority of the advanced technology woven into Lastimosa’s uniform – were allowed to use what they wished.

It was sure to be an engaging match, he thought as he watched the two teams prepare themselves. Both of them huddled together with their assigned partner on either side of the large area. Each of them formulating their plans of attack to emerge victorious against their opponents. And it began just as explosively as Thor had expected it to. But unfortunately, it also served to draw his attention away from his brilliant and very necessary idea of trying to speak with Barnes.

The Pilot and the Falcon were off like a shot with the starting horn as the lights were dimmed to a slightly less vibrant level of illumination to add another layer of challenge to the match. The dangerous woman was properly garbed in her full uniform from head to toe: the black jumpsuit, the harness of dark green straps, the charcoal gray armor plating along with her flaring jumpkit and equally green helmet. Wilson in turn was test running the latest variant of his own gear, which Stark had been doctoring and modifying since the dark-skinned man had officially joined their number. An improved pair of wings, a pair of goggles enhanced with some manner of visual technology and a new suit meant to improve the mortal man’s durability and comfort in combat.

The pair were accelerating at full speed towards Stark, who was barely off the ground in his Iron Man armor, with the clear intent to take him out of the fight as soon as possible. A smart choice and yet Thor could not help but be curious about how they would counter the Captain’s own attacks that were sure to come. Rogers was undoubtedly a certified professional at throwing his shield in increasingly intricate and unpredictable flight patterns. Entirely on purpose, which was ofttimes lethal to ground forces, but equally troublesome for those in the air.

To Thor’s eyes it seemed as though it was Lastimosa who was spearheading the attack as she grappled to the nearest wall. He once again was enraptured by the way she began to sprint along its surface, jumping back and forth between the columns and platforms that were in her path without pause. Her style of movement reminded him of the way he had once seen the rangers of the Ljósálfar carry out their hunts in the dense forests of Alfheim. Leaping nimbly from branch to branch without any need to touch the ground as they pursued their chosen prey. But as the Pilot made her approach, Wilson broke off to swoop in from the side, coasting in on his wings and angling for Stark’s unprotected flank.

It was at that point that the shield came soaring up into the air as the Captain sprinted into view. The disc was aimed at the Falcon, who strafed and looped backwards to avoid it narrowly, before altering his course with a sudden burst of jets and a drastic tilt of his wings. The shield bounced and returned to Steven’s practiced hands. Captain America’s attentions smoothly shifting from the winged man towards the helmeted woman, who was now the closer and easier target for a shield throw.

Or so the Captain seemed to believe.

The Pilot had engaged herself in a chaotic game of cat and mouse with Stark. Peppering his armor with controlled sprays of the high velocity pellets as she leapt between obstacles with an unerring grace at such high speeds. Dodging his attacks by the slimmest margins as she bent and contorted her body with a great degree of flexibility. She lured him forward in one moment and then pushed him back in the next, like a herding dog at work with its flock. And yet, beyond the usage of her grapple, Thor had not seen her use any of the other abilities he knew her to possess.

He was beginning to believe that something else was in play that he did not yet know about.

Was all of this according to the plans that Lady Rhiannon and the Falcon had made?

The shield was thrown once more as it began to seem like Lastimosa had worked herself into a corner, pinned in by Stark’s energy blasts, as Wilson came swooping in from the behind and slammed both of his feet into the Iron Man’s back. The two tumbled uncontrollably for a moment, but the Falcon had accomplished his task. A fraction of a second of breathing room had been granted and the Pilot made sure to capitalize on it. In a daring move, the grappling cable lashed out from her arm and it snatched the shield from the very air.

The Titan Pilot leapt downwards with her remaining momentum, perching atop one of the platforms in the room, as the grapple finished retracting and the shield arrived into her waiting grasp. Wilson and Stark had since recovered from their tumble as the Iron Man hovered in the air some distance away and the Falcon had set himself down on a second platform nearby. Rogers had also come to a halt nearby, looking up at the woman above him with the mock handgun now held in his hands, up and ready to fire. Though, he did not pull the trigger for whatever reason.

Lastimosa struck a pose with the shield on her arm in a similar manner as Rogers often carried it in, but still – wisely – carried herself ready and able to dodge an attack at any moment. Now would’ve been the prime moment to attack, while she was distracted by whatever thought had come to her mind.

“What do you think, boys?” she called out. “Think I could be a better Captain America than Steve?”

“Nope,” Stark was quick to shout back in response. “You’re all the wrong colors. Now why don’t you just hold still so I can shoot you?”

“That’s an easy thing to fix, Stark.” Lastimosa dodged to the side as a pair of limb restraints shot out from the Iron Man armor, ducking under the first set and blocking the next with a casual swing of the shield. “I’m sure I’d look just as spectacular in red, white and blue. What do you think, Sam?”

Two thumbs up – which Thor had come to know was a sign of positive acknowledgement – came from her winged partner. “Oh, yeah. You could definitely pull it off.”

“You gonna give me back that shield anytime soon?” Rogers interrupted, though Thor could see that there was a smile on the man’s face. He was enjoying this playful banter.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” Rhiannon ran a gloved hand over the edge with a particular sort of fondness before rapping her knuckles against the metallic surface. “Kinda like it. Might just keep it.”

How amusing, Thor thought as he could not help but smile and chuckle at the woman’s antics. Truly this was meant to be a combat simulation, but what was the point if they could not have at least a bit of fun with it? Stark and Wilson laughed a bit as well, a broad grin forming on the Captain’s own face despite the fact that he was the subject of the joke. A muffled sound from the side caught the blond Asgardian’s attention and he looked to see that even Barnes had been caught in the humor of the moment. A smile that even revealed a flash of his teeth, the crinkling of skin at the corners of his eyes and the slightest shake of his head from side to side in a sort of fond exasperation.

“Serves you right,” Sam quipped. “Guess you’re just gonna have to fight without it, man.”

But the Captain was ignoring the other man, his eyes solely focused on his shield and the woman who was unwilling to return it. He removed a hand from the mock firearm and pointed up at the Pilot. “I’m coming for that shield, Lastimosa,” he said, both a promise and a whimsical threat.

How far the two had come from those early days of wary acquaintanceship. The comradery and low-key flirtations were so refreshing to see. Now all that was left was to incorporate the third, and seemingly reluctant, super-soldier into the mix successfully.

The woman seemed keen to play the game with Rogers as she said, “You’re welcome to try, Rogers. Do try to keep up. That is, if you think you can.”

And the battle began once more as Lastimosa and Wilson leapt from their perches, once more focusing all of their attentions on Stark, while doing their best to avoid the Captain.

“She is quite a creative warrior, isn’t she?” Thor asked, glancing over towards Barnes to see what his reaction might be as the Pilot began to incorporate the Captain’s shield into her tactics to topple Iron Man. The man looked to be so proud and content in that half a second that the God of Thunder looked upon him. His steely blue eyes affixed on an acrobatic sparring match that had broken out between Rogers and Lastimosa after the man had managed to get lucky and intercept one of her wall-runs.

“Yeah,” Barnes answered honestly. “Didn’t think she’d steal Steve’s shield, though.”

The Asgardian nodded his head in agreement. “It was a most intelligent tactic to deprive the Captain of his primary source of both offense and defense.” And yet, as Thor continued to glance back and forth between the match and metal-armed man beside him he witnessed the very thing that he feared to see. Barnes’ aura – an ability that Thor did not often utilize for the fresh sorrow and memories of his recently departed mother it brought him – began to wane and transition from contentment to melancholy.

How it was that the Sergeant could look upon his two great loves and choose to retreat from such a sight? Thor could not understand or stand by and allow it. Now was the time for the God of Thunder to try his own hand at matchmaking – and how his lady mother, the goddess Frigga would have smiled upon him in that moment – as he was filled to brim with the compulsion to fix this situation. Mend what hurts and doubts seemed to linger in this tormented man’s soul and psyche before it became irrevocably damaged and beyond the realm of saving.

Thor refused to fail in this task.

He would not stop until he had obtained a victory in this matter.

And may the blessings Freyja, Lofn, Nanna and Sjöfn guide his actions.

* * *

“Steve and the Lady Rhiannon seem to have established a fine rapport with one another.”

Bucky had not been expecting the beefy God of Thunder to keep talking with him, expecting him to turn his attentions back towards the fight. And he had certainly not anticipated Thor to keep bringing up Steve and Rhia. Why couldn’t he just be left in peace? Left to stand there and watch as the two people that he loved more than anything grew closer and closer to each other with every passing day.

It should’ve made him happy. To see them getting along. And it did, in a way. It honestly did make him happy to see Steve and Rhia talking so frequently. For them to be spending time with one another without needing him to be around. All of the laughing and the light flirting that seemed to happen more and more often. He liked to see it, because he wanted them to be happy too. Despite what Barton had said. Despite all of his wishful thoughts and hopes for a happy ending, Bucky just couldn’t see it.

He didn’t deserve it. He wasn’t worthy of it. Those very same messages just kept playing in his head. Again and again and again without fail when Bucky found himself dwelling on the what ifs. He’d have a dream of that pretty picture that Clint had described. The three of them together. A fantasy that was just within his reach. The efforts of his fragile sense of bravery, clinging to those imaginings with all that it had. But then his skewed sense of reality would emerge from the shadows and rip it to shreds in his mismatched hands. And he would believe it. Trust in all of the dark whispers that said that such a source of happiness was not for him.

It couldn’t be.

It was just too good to be true.

Seeing Steve and Rhia growing closer was a good thing, even when he felt himself failing. Even as he instinctually tried to slink away into the background and watch the relationship between the two gorgeous blonds flourish in his absence. They could be happy with each other and he would be content. But Thor, with whatever powers granted to him by his alien nature, seemed to have the ability to see right past all of Bucky’s bravado and hastily constructed walls.

He didn’t like it and had no desire to talk about such things with the Asgardian.

But Thor seemed unperturbed by Bucky’s silence, continuing on without pause, “But you know that for all their happiness, they are both waiting on you.”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” Bucky snapped, beginning to feel cornered.

“It is not. Truly, you are correct.” The taller blond bowed his head in acknowledgement, even as his blue eyes – a far more vibrant and striking shade than even Steve’s – had caught Bucky’s own. “But I am loath to see you in such a state of despair and the continually unanswered longing in the eyes of both Steven and such a fair maiden as the Lady Rhiannon. I am obliged to try and see if I can perhaps offer you a bit of solace from your troubles.”

“You really don’t have to. What’s between the three of us is…”

“Please. I only ask that you hear me out,” Thor said lowly, almost a plea. “Whether or not you find value in my tale is up to you, but I find that I must share it. Not to urge you to towards something you do not feel prepared for. Only to allow you to see that you have worth and where you might see weakness – an irrevocably dark stain upon your character – others will see strength. A will to survive and to overcome your hardships. A desire to be far better than you once were.”

Bucky didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to listen to whatever it was that Thor was planning to tell him. He didn’t want to have even more to think about that he already did. To have even more to digest as he struggled to determine who he was and who he wanted to be. But in the same breath he was also curious. What sort of wisdom could the Asgardian have to share?

According to the rumors he’d heard the alien was nearly a thousand years old. Surely there was something that Thor could say that would help him make a decision, once and for all.

“Fine,” he eventually agreed with a scowl, glancing back down towards the fight that was still in full-force down below. It looked like Steve and Stark had gained the upper hand somehow and Rhia had lost the shield and Wilson was down a gun. Bucky was still on the fence about hearing Thor out, but had chosen to not give a damn and see what the muscle-bound God of Thunder had to say. Maybe it would be good and maybe it would be nothing more than garbage. “Let’s hear it.”

An unexpectedly solemn look came to the blond’s face as he began, “You have my thanks for allowing me this chance. You see, my friend, you are not the only one has had a grave darkness in their past. I am certain that even the others have done things that they deeply regret doing and you should not feel as though you are alone in this matter.”

Bucky began to open his mouth. To protest, but Thor simply held up a hand to stop him before he could even utter a single word. “Please, I ask that you only listen. This tale is not an easy one to tell, but we may speak when I am done, I assure you.” The Asgardian looked off towards the far wall and Bucky could tell that Thor was sinking deeper and deeper into his own memories.

And so, Bucky chose to listen and listen well to what the God of Thunder had to share.

“Once, not even more than a couple of centuries ago, I committed a terrible crime and I did not have the reasonings that you possess to defend my actions. I was not under anyone’s control other than my own. I had not been coerced, blackmailed or brainwashed by foul means into such a blatant act of violence. No, I was only driven to kill by pride and rage and my own stupidity.”

“I traveled the realms seeking enemies to defeat. To gain power and worthiness in the eyes of my great father, Odin. I went to Vanaheim with such a purpose and found myself welcomed into the village of a tribe of Jötnar in the eastern regions. The giants I knew of were monstrously fierce and evil by their very nature. Conquerors and warlords soaked in the blood of thousands if the tales of my forefathers were to be believed. I was on edge in their company. Paranoid that they planned to try and kill me in my sleep, even as I feasted at their tables and laughed amongst them over ale and wine.”

“It took only one act, one harmless mistake and the delusions of a tired mind, for me to condemn them all to death. I slept in the house of their chieftain and his youngest daughter had woken early to practice with a blade. A forbidden act by their culture. I woke to the sound of her drawing her sword just through the wall and found myself in an uncontrollable battle fervor after mistakenly thinking myself about to be assassinated. Lightning crackled and Mjölnir was swung before I could even think to stop and take in my surroundings with clear head. Only much later, when I had emerged from my blind fury, did I find myself amidst a massacred village with not a single soul spared from my unprovoked slaughter.”

“My punishment for such an act was swift that day. And yet, even those who sought vengeance for the innocents slain – who would not stay their blades for even the son of Odin – were killed. The berzerker tribeswomen of Vanaheim, an ancient sect who both inspired and were inspired by the Valkyries of old. I was forced to defend myself from their enraged assault and more died for my own foolishness. By the sunset of that day I had killed two hundred and fifty-seven souls. Innocent souls whose blood will always stain my hands and the black spot on my spirit that will always say that I too am a murderer who is not worthy of the happiness I might seek to gain.”

“And yet, when I returned to Asgard, I could not bear to tell anyone of my crimes. The shame that I felt even after I had washed the blood away. Though in time I could not bear it any longer. The night terrors and the guilt had grown too strong, even Mjölnir had begun to feel heavier in my grasp, and I chose to divulge the truth to my lady-mother. She was understandably upset and disappointed with what I had done. It was something that could not be revoked by any seiðr that she or any Asgardian could wield. Instead, she only had me rally my courage, to admit my crimes before a council of my family and friends, to face whatever manner of judgement might come for me at the hand of the Allfather.”

“And judgement I did receive by the will of that tribunal. I was sent back to Vanaheim to construct a monument in their honor. By my hand and Mjölnir they had perished and by the very same they would be remembered for eternity. But not alone, despite the stern orders of my father. The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif – even my brother – chose to accompany me and lend their own hands to my task. With their support, both silent actions and their words of comfort, I was able to come to terms with my terrible crime. To accept it and move forward with the intentions to do better. To be better and to never make such a mistake ever again. For all of the good that I have done throughout my life to outweigh all of the bad when the end of my time comes for me.”

It was only then that Bucky realized he had stopped paying any amount of attention to the fight in the room beyond. All of his attentions had been solely focused on the Asgardian and the story he had been weaving for the past several minutes. If nothing else he would give the enormous man credit for his superb storytelling abilities, but that was far too little to describe how Bucky felt just then. For all the assurances of support and comfort that he had been fed by Rhiannon and Steve and even Barton… How was it a story told by someone that he didn’t have a close relationship with was the one that allowed him to see with far greater clarity?

The doubts and the grief were still there. The memories of all that he had done as the Winter Soldier. And somehow, Bucky knew that they always would be and he had to accept that. They were wounds – surely as any caused by a blade or bullet – but with time and care they would scar over. But he was not the first and he doubted that he would be the last to have experienced such a thing. Thor had just admitted to doing so. He was not alone and to look at the Asgardian and see him living happily, going from one day to the next with even the slightest amount of positively, gave Bucky hope.

He opened his mouth to say something – anything – but could not rightly find the words.

“I do not mean to compare my experiences to your own,” Thor added with a sense of finality. “But only to show you what may come to those even after such a terrible thing. I have continued to live wholly and heartily. I have continued to fight for causes that I believe in. And I have even continued to seek and find love for all of the stains and scars that I might bear for my ill transgressions. That those who have chosen to share my bed know of my actions and choose to have loved me in spite of them.”

“How?” Bucky found himself asking without thought, his voice breaking and shaking with the effort of getting the words out. “How did you do it?”

Thor hummed for a moment. “Acceptance and perseverance,” he eventually said with a weighty frown. “It was not an easy thing and took a great deal of time, but it was made all the easier by those I had with me during the struggle.” The Asgardian gestured with a wave of his hand to the quartet beyond the wall of glass. “Those two are right there. Steven and Rhiannon. They are waiting for you. Choosing you above all others. Those who would be overjoyed to have even a fraction of the love that they bear for you.”

“But…” he began to protest, when a hand was clamped down on his left shoulder to cut him off. Thor had stepped closer, standing much taller than Bucky was and squeezing down in a not particularly gentle manner that he could feel through the pressure sensors of his arm. A deep and unsettling frown was on the other man’s face. Not of disappointment or anger, but rather a deep-seated determination that refused to be ignored or quenched.

“No, Sergeant Barnes,” the beefy blond all but growled out. “I will have no more doubt from you. No more hesitancy because you do not feel worthy of what they seek to give to you of their own volition.” The hand on his shoulder eased as the determination morphed into something softer. “I implore you to accept what they offer and you will find yourself far richer than you are now. You are not sparing them any amount of pain or suffering by distancing yourself from them. They will not find happiness in each other’s arms without you there with them. There is no them without you and I suggest you take that into consideration should you choose to continue with your foolish attempts to distance yourself from them. You will only end up breaking their hearts right along with your own.”

Who would’ve thought that the Asgardian’s method of blunt force reasoning would be just the thing he had needed? Bucky had always believed it was Steve who had the thick skull, but apparently, he just showed it more often. How could he have been so dense to not see what was right before his eyes?

What a fucking moron he had been all this time!

Trying to come to a hasty conclusion without all of the evidence. Being selfish about his own problems, curled up in a corner and licking his wounds with every intention of snarling and snapping until they would all just leave him alone. Trying to heal on his own. To not let anyone in to see how damaged he was. For them to see everything that was wrong with him and leave. Abandon him. But that sort of thing just wouldn’t work. It couldn’t. All he’d do is just drive himself insane and into an early grave. Falling into an endless downward spiral of guilt, depression and madness that Bucky wouldn’t even admit he was terrified of more than anything.

But he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to cause Stevie and Rhia pain. But apparently, he had been.

All this time.

He loved them. So much. Both of them and all he had to do was accept that they loved him too.

How could it be both so easy and so difficult?

What was he supposed to do? How could he fix this?

“Sergeant? Are you alright?” Bucky heard Thor asking as he emerged from his thoughts with a rattling inhale for breath and faint feeling of a tear tracking down one of his stubbled cheeks. The god’s hand was still on his shoulder, but the squeeze was far lighter and more comforting than it had been before. “I sincerely apologize if I have upset you. I only meant to open your eyes to the reality before you.”

“No. It’s – It’s fine. Damn,” Bucky cursed, shrugging out from under the hand to take a single step back and rub furiously at his dampened cheek with the sleeve of his shirt. How embarrassing. “Fuck, I hate all of this emotional shit. Can’t stop fucking crying all the time.”

But Thor didn’t seem to give a damn. “It is of no matter. The shedding of tears does not in any way make you any less masculine. Crying is far from being solely the realm of womenfolk,” he said with a small, but nonetheless cheery attempt at a smile. “But are these tears of joy or sorrow, I fear must ask?”

“Dunno. Maybe both?” Bucky admitted honestly, and felt that maybe Thor was the one he could truly express himself verbally to. The correct someone to seek advice from after all that he had just heard. If Thor could do it then why couldn’t he? “I just… I want it so bad, but every time I try to think about it, to maybe try and talk to them about it, there’s this voice that says I can’t. That they’ll hate me if I try and talk about what I’ve done. That I don’t deserve any of it. That I’m nothing more than a killer because of everything I’ve done for HYDRA. I’m a murderer and that’s all that I can be now.”

“Yes, I have heard such a voice in my time as well. Sometimes even now. That I too am nothing more than a blunt instrument wielded against the enemies of Asgard. A brutish monster to be unleashed. That I too am good for nothing more than fighting and killing. But you must do your utmost to never let that voice gain a single victory,” Thor urged passionately. “To think of every reason why you do deserve to love and be loved regardless of your past. Perhaps even because of your past? To experience what you have. To have obtained your freedom and then kept going. To have kept pushing forward. To flourish in spite of the adversity you have faced and will likely continue to face. To turn and tell your past that you will remember it always, but you will not let it define who you want to be now.”

“God, do you write all this shit down and memorize it? You’re like one of those books full of inspirational wisdom,” Bucky asked jokingly, his heart warmed by the Asgardian’s words more than he could possibly express, and was pleased to see the bigger man’s smile broaden into a fuller grin.

“No. These are simply many of the things that my dearest mother had imparted upon me throughout my lifetime,” the blond said as he turned to look into the middle distance with a bit more sadness in his gaze. “She was a woman of peerless of wisdom and compassion. Sadly, she is lost to us all now, but I can only hope to carry on even a fragment of her mantle by offering guidance to those who might need it.”

“Like me?” Bucky asked.

“Exactly like you, Sergeant Barnes,” Thor said as he turned to lock their eyes once more. “And now I must ask if what I have told you has helped? Will you consider accepting their suit for your affections?”

“I’m…” Thor leaned in slightly towards Bucky with an expectant and hopeful expression on his thickly bearded face. “Going to consider it. I’ll need some time to wrap my head around it all. Your story and your advice. And all of the advice that some of the others have given me. But…”

“But?”

“Yes,” Bucky said in a forceful exhale, jumping right in and saying it before he could think about it for too much longer. To get it out in the hopes that it would solidify itself. “I think that I’m going to accept. See how it goes. Give it a try.”

“And that is all that I can ask for,” Thor said warmly and encouragingly. “Now, let us perhaps see how the match is going? It had been some time, surely one of the teams must’ve won by…”

A muffled explosion, followed by the crashing and crunching sound of metal, rocked the room the two stood in. Bucky found himself grasping at the nearest wall to keep his balance as he shifted his legs into a wider stance. Thor looked equally disturbed by the shaking and the sounds, casting his gaze out into the arena, which seemed to have been the source.

“Oh,” was all the Asgardian managed to say before Bucky was there, pushing him not so gently out of the way and peering out into the smokey haze that was beginning to fill the room beyond. He couldn’t really see anything from this angle and that worried him more than he would’ve liked to admit.

“What is it? What did you see? Where’re Steve and Rhia?” he demanded, looking up to Thor before opting to turn and rush his way out of the viewing room.

What happened? Could they have been hurt?

“I saw them all. Before the smoke began to billow,” the God of Thunder called out from behind him as he followed from behind. “They are all quite well, I assure you. There is certainly no need to panic, Sergeant!” But Bucky had no intentions of stopping, even with Thor’s assurances – true or not – he would only believe it when he saw it for himself. He wasn’t about to have finally admit to trying out a three-way relationship with Steve and Rhia only to lose them to some freak accident.

No way in Hell would he allow that to happen.

Not a chance.

But what he saw once he had all but kicked the main doors open was far from the disaster he had been expecting. No, instead he saw Wilson sprawled out on the ground, rolling from side to side and laughing uncontrollably. Stark was seated on the ground with his limbs askew with a thoroughly perplexed and almost heartbroken expression on his face. Steve and Rhia were clinging to one another and laughing just as wildly and raucously as Wilson was. And the Iron Man armor was embedded face-first into the wall, with only the ass and legs hanging free, as it burned and sparked and spasmed with its remaining power. Even the panels around the impact site were charred and shattered, with the mechanisms that made the walls move had been bent and mangled on the other side.

“What the fuck happened here?” he demanded upon approach, torn between the hilarity of the scene and the indignation about the possible threat the people he loved had been exposed to in a controlled environment. “How the… Someone needs to explain this. Right now.”

“Oh! Buck!” Steve called in surprise to see him there, turning even as he supported the still giggling and helmet-less Rhiannon in his arms. The shield and both Steve’s and Rhia’s helmets lying forgotten on the ground nearby. “Well, to be honest, we don’t really know what happened. Rhia managed to get Stark with a… What was it called again?”

The blonde woman attempted to straighten herself and stand on her own, taking a few heaving breaths to calm herself down and fight back the laughter. “Arc Grenade. I hit him with the one I was carrying to see what would happen. They’re technically non-lethal and I figured that the suit would keep him safe from most of the current. But the suit went haywire, spat out Stark and did… Well, it went and did that.”

The explanation seemed to spark the multi-billionaire out of his stupor as he surged to his feet and pointed a shaking finger at the sole woman in the room. “You’re to blame, Lastimosa. I’m holding you personally responsible for this. Minus one gold star on your record.”

“What?” Rhia asked with her eyes wide and nothing more than confusion on her face.

Thor seemed equally perplexed as he stepped closer and asked, “A golden star? What does this signify? How does one earn such a boon?”

“Dammit, you guys!” came a cry of despair from the open doorway and they all turned to see Barton and Romanoff strolling into the room as well. Both spies were wearing their own uniforms and carrying their own versions of non-lethal weaponry. “I go grocery shopping for less than two hours and I come home to chaos. Absolute chaos! Seriously? Are you all children on the inside? Do you guys need an adult with you at all times?”

“Oh, like you’re much better, Clint,” the short red-haired woman was quick to say.

“Hush, Tasha. I’m trying to discipline the kids.”

“Very funny, Clint,” Steve said, glancing back up towards the Iron Man armor stuck in the wall. “We just had a bit of an accident. They do happen.”

“But, unfortunately, now we can’t do this whole combat simulation deal,” Stark interrupted. “My suit’s busted and the systems in the wall are well and truly fucked up. Nope, we can’t continue until I get all of this fixed and that’s going to take a while. Probably about a week or so without any assistance on hand.”

“Well, then what are we supposed to do now?” Sam asked disappointedly as he clambered up from the thinly padded surface of the floor. “We had the whole rest of the afternoon specifically scheduled for this exercise. I’m even missing out on one of my shows for this.”

Rhiannon cleared her throat to gain everyone’s attention. “I have a possible idea,” she announced with a slightly proud smile on her face.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked with a raised brow. “And what would that be?”

“Let’s hear it, Lastimosa,” Barton added with a curious expression. “Better be good.”

“On the off chance we had a bit of time after the matches, I brought some of my guns over to the firing range,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders, bending over to quickly snatch her helmet up off of the ground along with Steve’s own helmet and the shield. “Thought that I could give you all a run down and teach those of you who were interested in knowing how to use them.”

“I like the sound of that,” Romanoff was quick to say in agreement. “Did like the way that SMG you were using at the HYDRA Base worked. Would certainly like to give that one a try, if you don’t mind?”

“Sure. The CAR is a good one,” Rhia said with a nod of her head, even as she handed Steve’s things back to him with a casual ease. “Oh!” she exclaimed as a bit of a smirk began to cross over her face and she focused all of her attentions onto Bucky. They whole group had just begun to make their way out of the room and down the hall, with exception of Stark and Thor, who stayed behind. “And Bucky, I brought one of your lady-loves down too. Figured you’d maybe want to finally fire one of them after all of those times you were giving them moon-eyes in the dropship.”

“One of the Krabers?” he asked hopefully. Bucky really did like that the look of that rifle, ever since that first time he had seen it up on the walls of the dropship, and he wanted to shoot it quite desperately.

“Mhmm,” she hummed in affirmation, leading the way down the hall.

A warmth grew in his chest as all of the gratitude and love and happiness he felt in the presence of this woman bloomed. An uncontrolled smile began to curl on his lips and without a trace of hesitancy or overthinking his actions Bucky couldn’t help but drawl, “You sure know just how to make a fella’s day, don’t you, doll?”

“I can only try my best,” Rhia said with a bright smile cast over her shoulder, seeming more than willing to answer his apparent good mood with her own. God, how had he ever thought to give up moments like this? Why? Why would he have ever considered it at all when he could feel as light-hearted and at ease as he did right then with Rhiannon and Steve so close by. “Even managed to find HEIAP rounds in one of the ammo crates, so we’re sure to have plenty of fun if we can find some reactive targets.”

They walked through the sliding doors to the outer rooms of the firing range, arranged in a very similar style to a modern locker room. One wall covered in gun racks, the other with a series of tall lockers and a large table taking up the center of the room. The gathered crowd of six was quick to divest themselves of things they no longer needed into the lockers for storage. It was then that Bucky, while placing his own assortment of pellet handguns and a couple of fake knives into one of the lockers, sensed someone coming up on his right side. He tilted his head to the side and saw Steve with a concerned expression on his handsome face.

“What’s gotten into you, Buck?” he asked, low and under his breath so that none of the others in the room could have a chance at overhearing. The others had already gathered around Rhia, who was beginning to gesture at and explain some of the firearms she had arranged on the central table. “You’ve been real off and on these past few weeks. What’s going on? Are you doing okay? Do you…”

“Calm down, Stevie. I’m fine,” Bucky murmured back, angling his body against the locker to lean against it, facing Steve but also watching Rhia giving her lesson about her guns. He didn’t want to go a single second without having them both in his line of sight in that moment. He just needed it so badly. The reassurance of having them both there and the mantra of positive thoughts now running around and around in his mind. He wouldn’t stop. He loved them and we wouldn’t give them up now that he had this momentum to fuel him into making the right decision for once.

“Buck…”

“Steve, today is a good day,” Bucky whispered earnestly, meeting that pair of concerned baby blues unflinchingly and knowing deep in his heart of hearts that he had finally chosen correctly. “I know I’ve been… having some trouble lately. There was just too much going on in my head. But I’m better now. I promise. Things will be better from now on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness, everyone! Much excitement! Chapter 25 and it's a big turning point for this whole shin-dig. Big things coming up soon and most specifically I'm going to be posting Chapter 26 on July 4th. ON PURPOSE! What better than a super special chapter on Steve's birthday!? Once again, a big thank you to all of you who have jumped onto this crazy train. You're all the most wonderful of people and I couldn't have kept doing any of this without your continual support. Also, a big shout-out to rachelladytietjenswrites (heliophilenz) for a lot of the inspirations for the development of this particular chapter. Thor being a font of wisdom and advice for Bucky is one of my new favorite things to write.
> 
> GLOSSARY OF ACRONYMS & FANCY TERMINOLOGY:  
> -Furlong = An Eighth of a Mile / 220 yards.  
> -Norns = Female Beings (Urðr, Verðandi and Skuld) who rule the Destiny of Gods and Men.  
> -Ljósálfar = The Light Elves who live in the realm of Alfheim.  
> -Frigga = Norse Goddess of Marriage and Motherhood.  
> -Freyja = Norse Goddess of Love, Fertility, and Battle  
> -Lofn = Norse Goddess of Forbidden Loves.  
> -Nanna = Norse Goddess of Joy and Peace.  
> -Sjöfn = Norse Goddess of Love.  
> -Jötnar = Giants, but not the Frost Giants of Jotunheim.  
> -HEIAP = High-Explosive Incendiary Armor-Piercing.


	26. Chapter 26

**1148 HOURS | FEBRUARY 14, 2015 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

This was not a good month for Steve and it never had been since he had been miraculously thawed out from the glacial Arctic. February was when everything had gone so horribly wrong. That was not say that the entirety of the rest of the war hadn’t been God fucking awful as well, but it was in February of 1945 when everything had simple fallen apart right before his very eyes. All in a matter of minutes.

All beginning and ending with the ambush of that damned train in the Austrian Alps.

February 1st and everything had gone to shit.

_“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?”_

_“Yeah. And I threw up?”_

_“This isn’t payback, is it?”_

_“Now why would I do that?”_

If Steve could’ve gone back in time, he would’ve never allowed Bucky onto that train. But that wasn’t fair to any of the other Commandos that might’ve suffered the same fate. No. He should’ve just been faster. He should’ve been better.

The pair of them breaking into one of the cars. Being separated and immediately falling under attack when the doors had slid shut between them. They should’ve expected Zola to be traveling with a full guard. They should have come prepared for that. They should’ve been smarter and just gone straight to the engine and worked their way back from there.

Fighting off the heavy with the rattle of Buck’s Tommy and 1911 firing ringing in his ears. Making it in time to save him from that last HYDRA soldier after he’d run out of ammo.

_“I had him on the ropes.”_

_“I know you did.”_

And then that unnatural whine of a HYDRA cannon powering up to fire from behind them.

_“Get down!”_

He’d tried to get Buck out of the way, shoving him off to the side. To take the brunt of the shot with his shield. And he did, but it’d blown the whole side of the car open like a tin can.

Too late. Not fast enough.

_“Bucky!”_

Icy wind and snow nearly blinding him as he reached out, inching closer and closer with every passing moment. The jagged rocks of the cliff racing just below and the foreboding creak and groan of the bolts holding the bar that Bucky clung to bending and breaking beneath the strain. And then the bar broke away and Bucky fell.

Screaming.

And Steve could only stand there and watch, losing sight as the train continued to speed onwards through the snow-covered mountains.

Then, only four days later, Steve had led the suicidal charge against HYDRA Headquarters.

Only four days without Bucky and he had flown the _Valkyrie_ into the ice without hesitation.

The first week of February was always the worst and, no matter the changes that this new year had brought, Steve still found himself barely sleeping for fear of his own recurring nightmares. But in the second week things got a bit easier. No less painful, but he’d had time to come to terms with his dreams and memories. In those two years before – 2012 and 2013 – it always ended with just the acceptance that Buck had been gone. In a better place, he could only hope, and just waiting for that eventual day where Steve could finally join him up in Heaven.

But February of 2014 had been the worst and Steve had nearly killed himself in the freshly launched pursuit because Bucky had been alive. He was alive! All of the guilt and panic and fear and heartbreak had eaten at him constantly during those handful of weeks. Always seemingly worse in the downtime. The moments when he hadn’t been on the hunt with Sam. Back in New York taking care of Avengers business and the leftovers of S.H.I.E.L.D. The nightmares. The panic attacks. The fact that he’d barely been able to keep the food he ate in his stomach. And the feeling had not waned with the end of the month. No, it had continued – though, eventually at more manageable level – right up until that fateful day in November.

One of the happiest days in Steve’s recent memory, if he was being entirely honest.

February of 2015, in contrast to all of the others before it, was already much improved by an enormous margin. The first week – or rather the first five days – had still been rough for Steve. He had still suffered from his usual nightmares, refreshed by the reminder of the date. Waking up in a cold sweat, panting for breath and with Bucky’s name on his lips. Every moment he felt chilled. A psychological cold that no amount of turning up the thermostat and putting heavier clothes on could possibly fix. But waking every day after a shit night of sleep to catch sight of Bucky walking around freely. To see him talking with the other members of the Team. To see him smiling and laughing with Rhiannon. And to bear witness to that brief, but affectionate, smile that the dark-haired man sent across the room at him.

It was a joy that Steve wasn’t sure he could rightly put into words.

And now the second week of February was coming to a close and Steve had an idea. A wildly foolish idea that he couldn’t seem to let go of since earlier in the week, when Natasha had mentioned it in passing.

Today, the fourteenth, was Rhiannon Lastimosa’s thirty-fourth birthday.

It was also Valentine’s Day.

And true to Bucky’s words in the gun range, the social interactions between the three super-soldiers had seemed to evolve into a new level of comfort, friendliness and frequency. Whatever distance the metal-armed man had attempted to put between himself, Steve and Rhiannon before had now nearly turned in a full one-eighty. He talked with them both more. He joked more. He laughed more. Bucky was even trying his best to not instinctually flinch away from physical contact that wasn’t affiliated with combat. And even those quiet evenings that the three of them had spent watching television shows and movies had begun again in these past couple of weeks.

It had only been Steve’s poor demeanor, regardless of how much he had tried to hide it from them, that had put a damper on their precious time together.

But maybe now, on the downward swing of his recurring period of emotional turmoil, Steve could put a more positive swing on all of his Februaries to come. There was already a surprise birthday party in the works for Rhiannon by the entirety of the Avengers. It was planned for noontime. That would give them plenty of time for a lengthy and celebratory lunch, accompanied by a cake and presents. But at Steve’s whispered request to Natasha, his confidant in this matter, it was agreed that the evening hours were going to be only for the three of them.

A nice dinner to be shared with Bucky and Rhiannon and no one else.

Because maybe it was time for Steve to step up to the plate and make a move on behalf of all of them.

He had been thinking, time and time and time again, about that conversation he’d had with Natasha on New Year’s Eve. Steve had done the research about polyamory. Serious research about how a romantic relationship could possibly work between more than two people. Regardless of the way that his cheeks had burned when he had wandered into the slightly more risqué search results that the internet had suggested for him to read. His mind had done more than enough of its own volition – on far more than one occasion – that he did not need any more fodder for his depraved mind to try and get its perverse fingers on.

He was already flooded with thoughts of kissing Bucky again. Pressing the dark-haired man back against the nearest wall and pressing their lips together with as much passion and love and desperation as Steve now felt for all of their years apart. Being pushed back in turn, flipped around and pinned under the power of Bucky’s newfound strength, once his lover had caught on with the fervency of his needy affections. How badly Steve needed to feel and be felt right at that moment. Those mismatched hands roaming across Steve’s body both over and under his clothes. The flesh one running hot and the metal chillingly cold as his back would arch and every inch of skin would cry out for any amount of contact it could have.

And then Rhiannon would be there, watching them kiss with a heady look in her own eyes, licking her lips from over one of Bucky’s shoulders. Leaning in while standing up on her toes to begin kissing and licking and nipping her way up the other man’s neck. Catching glimpses through his half-shut eyes of her pink tongue and the flash of her teeth against Bucky’s skin. His lover’s head tilting back and away from the sensation as she hit a particularly sensitive spot with a rough nip, quickly soothed with a broad swipe of her tongue. Her eyes half-lidded, but looking up into Steve’s own with purpose. With such focused and provocative intentions for how their night would be going.

And how he would welcome it.

How he yearned for it.

But no. He couldn’t. God, how he wanted to, but now just wasn’t the time. There was no way to tell if either of them were of the same mind, no matter Steve’s own desperate rampage of feelings and the increasingly insistent physical desires that plagued him.

His love for Bucky had not waned. In fact, it had only grown stronger by seeing how strong the man he loved was. To get up every day and interact with the world on any level after what he had gone through. It was… Inspiring. More than that. Exhilarating. Heartening. Steve could keep going, but there were just too many descriptors he could use and they would all be true.

And Rhiannon.

With her it was more difficult to define, but he was willing to try. To let it grow into something more.

He did not love her.

At least, not in the way he loved Bucky. But theirs was a relationship that had years of history behind it. Theirs had been a close childhood friendship that had evolved into more when they were teenagers and had grown and grown and grown from there. All of their experiences that had only driven them closer together. Going to school together. Sneaking around Brooklyn and getting into trouble more often than not. The war. Fighting HYDRA back to back for those few years with the Commandos at their sides.

Steve just did not have that with Rhiannon.

At least, not yet.

But that did not mean that he didn’t like her. He liked her a lot, actually. Her fierce, yet incredibly caring, personality. The compassion and generosity that Rhia had shown when welcoming Bucky into her home without question. Bringing him in from the cold – saving him from HYDRA – only based on the mere fact that she’d known he had needed help and she was capable of giving it. All of the resilience and strength of character she had shown when the sphere had exploded and she had found herself stranded in their reality. Even the way she had that vaguely Australian accent, which only added just a slightly different cadence to her words that Steve had come to find rather attractive.

How he liked to just listen to her speak about anything to hear it.

She was gorgeous too. Even with his pre-serum vision he would’ve known her to be a total knock-out. Not perhaps the perfect beauty of a model or the often softer star-studded gals of the silver-screen, but Rhiannon was a looker nonetheless. The bronzed-hue of her skin, her tattoos, her firm musculature along with still feminine curvature of her body. Her gray-green eyes and that lustrous curtain of pale ash-blonde hair. All of those features put together into one hell of a beautiful and strong woman. And even just watching her fight in that wholly unique way that Titan Pilots did – either for real or in a training scenario – was just utterly enrapturing.

And so, they would have this dinner and he could only hope for the best.

The morning had been split between the normal operations of the Avengers, because their work never did truly stop, and the preparations for both the lunch and the dinner. But now the lunch was almost ready according to Natasha and Sam, the two who had teamed up to pull the whole thing off, much to the disgruntlement of one Tony Stark. And then Steve had found himself being nominated to go and find the three individuals who had been suspiciously missing for most of the second half of the morning. Those three being – of course – Rhiannon, Bucky and Clint.

He didn’t mind at all and he wouldn’t argue that he was curious what they could’ve possibly been doing for all this time. The group breakfast, which had quickly become a staple at the Compound and was more often than not the sole creation of Rhiannon, had been served around seven. The usual time. But since then, as the majority of the original Avengers went off to conduct their business, Rhia and Bucky had gone off to do their own thing. And then later Clint had vanished as well. Just as the Compound’s activities transitioned from international threat assessment and intelligence gathering to ordering some food, a decently large cake and preparing a handful of small gifts for Rhiannon.

So, with guidance from J.A.R.V.I.S, Steve found himself wandering down into the basement facility on his way to the firing range. A place that he honestly should have expected the two of them to be. And if the muted sound of sequential gunshots coming through the walls was indicative of anything, they were all going to town on whatever targets they had prepared. With proper eye and ear protection worn on his person, all the more important for his enhanced sense of hearing, he buzzed into the range proper from the first room.

It looked like they were having some sort of competition. The usual tables and the partitions that marked off each section of the range had all been rearranged to open it up into one large and empty space. Targets were everywhere in a jumbled pattern that Steve couldn’t put any logic to. Some were on the floor. Some on the walls. Some were even hanging from the ceiling, which was easily twenty-feet up. Some were cardboard that looked like it had been spray-painted, some were made of the professional AR500 steel and Steve even saw what looked like fruit – they might’ve been apples and oranges – lined up along the back wall more than a hundred yards down range. Each of the arranged tables had on them a selection of guns of a certain type – mostly just pistols, shotguns and rifles both of Earthly design and those from Rhia’s reality – along with several magazines loaded with ammunition ready and waiting.

“What the…” he began to say, hoping to ask these three just what they thought they were doing. But as Steve glanced over at the where the trio stood - all of them clustered together at the far end – but none of them paid him any mind. In fact, it rather looked like they didn’t even know he was there.

Clint held what looked like a stopwatch in his hands as Rhia stepped forward into what Steve supposed was the marked starting position. Her arms, with all of their tanned skin and pristine ink exposed to his wandering eyes by the navy-blue sleeveless shirt she was wearing, held up in the air with her hands empty and open. Her hair was braided back tightly and twisted into a bun at the back of her neck, luckily not interfering with the noise-cancelling headphones she wore over her ears and pair of clear glasses she wore as eye protection.

“Three. Two. One. Mark!” Clint barked out and she was off. Snagging up one of the handguns, loading one magazine before roughly shoving a spare mag into one of the back pockets of her jeans. Stepping onto the range, bringing her gun up to bear on the first series of targets and began pulling the trigger.

_Bang-bang. Bang-bang. Bang-bang. Bang-bang._

Side-stepping between targets and obstacles in her path as she moved along the series, each measured step smooth, but quick, and her aim never wavering. Crouching and leaning to hit those at a particular angle. Then the path doubled back. Rhiannon began to walk backwards even as she swapped out the empty magazine for a fresh sixteen bullets, bring her gun back up to shoot at a second series of targets, before returning to the pistol table with two emptied mags.

Handgun dropped off at the table and moving onwards to the table with shotguns, scooping up what Steve recognized as the EVA-8 from her reality with a fully loaded twenty-round drum magazine. And with that semi-automatic combat shotgun in hand, Rhia dashed her way through another arranged pathway of targets, more of them made of the AR500 as they rang out with every strike of buckshot.

_Bang. Bang-bang-bang. Bang-bang._

And then, when the drum had run dry, she switched over to a rifle – a Hemlok BF-R, another gun that Steve recognized – for the last round of targets. Set to fire only one bullet with every pull of the trigger as she engaged with the third and final section of the course. And then, with the last four rounds in the magazine…

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

The arrangement of oranges at the far end of the range exploded with every bullet.

“And time!” Clint called out, as Rhia ejected the magazine from the magwell, checked the open bolt for any jammed rounds and finished making the rifle safe as she walked back to return it to the table.

“What’d I get?” she asked, moving one side of the headphones off of one of her ears to hear more clearly. It was at that point, as the others also freed one of their ears, that they all seemed to finally realize that Steve was there. “Oh! Hi, Steve! How long have you just been standing there?”

“He’s been there for…” Bucky began, leaning over to glance at the stopwatch in Clint’s hands. “Only a little bit longer than the thirty-seven point six five seconds it took you to finish the course.”

“You’re saying that I got sub-forty on the first try?”

“That was your…” Steve began to ask incredulously as he walked forward, glancing back at the course before looking back towards the woman who was beaming with pride and happiness. She almost looked to be on the verge of doing some sort of victory dance. However, Rhiannon had turned her attentions onto Bucky with a fierce sort of grin on her face and Steve could recognize a challenge when he saw one.

“Your turn, Barnes,” she goaded. “Dare you to try and beat my time.”

The answering grin on Bucky’s face, slightly less vibrant but no less enthusiastic, was wonderful to see for Steve. To see him… No, to see the both of them having such a good time was simply the best thing. It had Steve feeling for more convinced that his plans for tonight were going to be successful.

“You’re not winning this, Rhia,” Bucky said as he began to make his way towards the starting position. “Doesn’t matter if it’s your birthday or not. You’ll get no mercy from me.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way. Wanna see what you’ve got,” Rhiannon challenged before walking over to where Steve had leant himself up against the wall to watch Bucky’s run through the course. “So, Steve, what brings you down here to the dungeon?”

“Just came to fetch all of you,” he said. “Lunch is almost done.”

“You mean my birthday lunch?”

“So, you do know about it,” Steve said. “Romanoff made it seem like it was some big secret.”

Rhiannon nodded her head, bringing up one of her hands to her headphones in preparation to bring it back down over her uncovered ear as Clint and Bucky seemed just about ready to begin. “Yeah, I knew. Definitely wasn’t a secret when Sam asked me what cake I liked best. But…” she trailed off, turning and tilting her head up to look him in the eyes. “You guys really didn’t have to do this, you know? You’ve all done more than enough for me already.”

“We know,” Steve admitted. “But we decided to do it anyways. You’re one of us now. A friend and a teammate, which entitles you to all of the little things that come with it, which includes being thrown birthday parties.”

“You’re aware that we’re all adults, right?”

“So? I’m technically ninety-six years old and you don’t see that stopping me from celebrating my own birthday when I can. Age certainly didn’t stop Bucky, both before and during the war, from finding me some sort of cake-like thing to eat and a present. And me from doing the same for him.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Age is just a number and in our line of work we really ought to be celebrating every year we managed to get through,” he said. “And anyways, you try convincing Tony to not throw a party when he finds a legitimate reason for one. You saw how he nagged Banner for days back in December.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but the sight of Bucky taking the same arms-up stance as Rhiannon had before made her abort the attempt to talk. The two of them quickly readjusted their ear protection back into its proper placement as Clint held the stopwatch up once more.

“And… Three. Two. One. Mark!” the archer called out loudly and Bucky was off. Moving just as swiftly, or perhaps even more so, though Steve couldn’t really tell, and with the same level of practiced ease that Rhiannon had. The handgun cradled in a firm two-handed grip as he rushed into the course, rattling off with the same one-two double-tap for every target.

Then he was moving onto the shotgun targets, exchanging the pistol for a fairly short barreled tactical shotgun with a pair of underslung tube-magazines. Steve couldn’t tell how many shells it could carry just by looking at it, but he still saw Bucky grabbing another eight extra shells on a caddie he clipped to one of his pockets. Steve leaned in towards Rhiannon to ask her how many targets there were for the shotgun portion of the course, hoping that she could hear him well enough through her headphones and the chorus of gunfire. She nodded as she heard him, bringing up hand to flash all of her fingers at him twice in succession.

Twenty targets for shotgun.

And yet, her hands did not stop as she answered him in the easiest way against the noise. One flash of both of her hands – ten – and then another six fingers with a gesture towards the pistol section. Sixteen there then, but each had to be hit with two shots as she tapped her palm twice with two fingers. Then she gestured to the rifle area just in time for Bucky to transition out for an assault rifle. Another count on her fingers totaled at twenty-four rifle targets as the metal-armed man practically danced through the arrangement of cardboard, steel and poor, innocent fruit that never hurt anybody.

Sixty targets in total throughout the whole course, which was a fair number.

“Time!” Clint barked as Bucky finished destroying the apples, ejecting the magazine out of his rifle and returned it to the table. There was a bit of frown on his face as he dropped the gun off and made his way over to where the three of them now stood, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head in disappointment over something.

“What’d he get?” Rhiannon asked once they had all removed their ear protection.

“Thirty-eight point one three,” Clint reported factually, but looked up with blatant confusion on his face. “But I don’t get it… Where’d you go wrong in shotgun? You had Lastimosa beat in your splits for pistol and rifle…”

“Got cocky,” Bucky explained with a particularly accusatory look towards his metal limb. “Tried to quad load when I was running low but the shells slipped. Guess a metal hand isn’t so good for speed loading.”

“Well, I’m gunna have to give you bonus points for even being brave enough to try and quad load,” Rhia said. “But it would seem that I have emerged victorious, which means that now it is time for cake.”

“Lunch is ready?” Clint asked, setting the watch down on one of the tables and hastily making his way towards the door. “Damn, why didn’t you say something sooner, Rogers. I’m starving.”

“That’s because you only had coffee this morning, Barton,” Rhia was quick to shout back, following after the archer. “I offered you food but you said you weren’t hungry!” And then, the two were gone. Rhia in her eagerness for cake and Clint in his eagerness for food in general, which left only Steve and Bucky to trail along behind them with a look of befuddled amusement shared between them.

The party was an all-around success, but far from the boisterous and out-of-control event that Steve knew Tony had wanted it to become. A bit hard to do admittedly, when there were only nine – most whom were fairly calm natured – people in attendance. But Rhiannon had been happy with it all. Touched as she made sure to go around and thank everyone for their efforts. And it was during this time that the existence of the course assembled down in the firing range came to light and Natasha and Sam were quick to express their interest. It was at that point that Tony and Bruce vanished back off to the labs and Thor announced that he was off to visit Dr. Foster for the next few days.

But that was how Steve found himself, not even an hour and a half later, with a 1911 – which was luckily a pistol he was abundantly familiar with – in his hands and running the course as well. All at the other’s insistence. Particularly that of Bucky and Rhiannon, who had claimed that it was an absolutely necessity for Steve to be practicing his marksmanship as much as his shield work and CQC.

The two were ganging up on him already and he hadn’t even asked them out on a date yet.

However, they were right and it was fun to push himself and try to gain back all of those skills that he had been taught during his remedial training with S.H.I.E.L.D. before being listed as active. Skills that he had been neglecting. And it was fun to try out some of the different guns on offer, seeing how they felt and how they performed when put to the test. Then glancing over to watch Natasha and Rhiannon, who were standing off to the side, as the taller woman pulled apart one of the foreign pistols and talked the red-head through each of the components. Seeing Sam and Bucky arguing over the merits of a particular rifle and watching the sole archer amongst them proudly proclaiming that a bow in his hands was better than any gun could ever be.

And then it was nearly thirty minutes past six o’ clock and Steve was rushing back and forth to put the finishing touches around his apartment. He had the food in the kitchen – a few pasta dishes from a local Italian place that was actually really good – staying warm in the oven. The small dining table was set for three and he had wine or beer to accompany the meal and a smaller cake set aside for dessert. No fancy candles or roses or anything that might’ve screamed of an obvious attempt at stereotypical romance. Steve wasn’t going to go all out with all the bells and whistles and have everything end up just blowing up in his face.

As his mind was all but convinced it somehow would.

God, he was so nervous. All of these doubts and what ifs swirling around in his mind without end. Just as they had been since he had taken a shower after finishing up at the gun range and putting on a clean pair of clothes: a pair of dark jeans, a light grey Henley and a green and blue patterned flannel over it. Those negative thoughts plaguing him as his cleaned up around his rooms, not that they were particular dirty to begin with. Poking and prodding at him as he went down to meet with Sam, who had agreed to fetch the food from the restaurant for him. Far from calmed by the supportive smiles he had gotten from the trio – Clint, Natasha and Sam – who were lounging about in the living room watching a movie.

What if they said no? What if they didn’t want this? What if something went wrong?

Steve eventually had to just sit down, his head in his hands as he attempted to calm himself down. His heart was beating well above its usual rhythm and he had even begun to sweat a little.

Ha! What a fucking joke he was!

Captain America calm under fire in the middle of a battle, but unable to keep his cool when trying to ask the man that he loved and a woman that he had come to admire to be in a relationship with him. Maybe he was making a mistake? Maybe he wasn’t even ready to take this step? Maybe…

“Captain Rogers, you told me to inform you when Sergeant Barnes and Captain Lastimosa were on their way. They should be knocking on your door at any second,” J.A.R.V.I.S. announced suddenly and Steve realized that he was out of time. It was now or never and he had to commit or all of his efforts would’ve been in vain.

He wanted this.

He wanted it so badly.

“Thanks for letting me know, J.A.R.V.I.S,” he said as he got up from the couch and began to make one last round of the apartment. Just to be sure that everything was ready.

He could do this.

He could do this!

The knock on his door arrived as expected and Steve took a deep breath and walked over. He swung it open and there they stood – shoulder to shoulder – dressed just as casually as Steve was. Each wearing jeans, well-worn hooded sweatshirts and their usual pair of boots. Bucky’s hair was slicked back in some semblance of the style he used to wear it – though, obviously much longer now – and Rhiannon’s mane of ashen-blonde had been braided in a far fancier style than she usually wore. Steve idly wondered how she managed to get the braid to go down the side of her head like that and not fall apart as she moved, before coming to realize that he hadn’t even greeted them yet.

“Hey, guys. Uh – Glad you could make it,” he said, resisting the desire to rub at the back of his neck or shift his body weight in any noticeable way. Tells that they would be able to read and see that he was nervous about something. He stepped back to wave them in, shutting the door behind them as they toed out of their shoes and kicked them off to the side.

“Of course, Steve,” Rhia said. “Wasn’t a problem. It’s not like we live very far away.”

“So, what’s this about?” Bucky asked as the three of the moved further into the room. “You said you wanted to talk to us about something?” Steve led the way towards the set table and gestured to the waiting chairs.

“How about we have dinner first? Then we can… talk,” he suggested and despite the suspicion and curiosity that sparked in both of their eyes, they nodded in agreement and took a seat. They trusted him enough to not argue and press for answers right then and there.

“What do you guys want to drink? Wine? Beer? Water? Something else?” Steve asked as he moved off into the kitchen to get the food out of the oven and bring the bowls out to the table for them to serve themselves from. Stopping by the fridge to look over his shoulder at the pair as he waited to hear what either of them wanted to drink.

Rhiannon, leaning back in her chair with a casual ease and a peaceful sort of smile on her face, raised a brow and said, “That would depend on what we’re eating, mister chef. You haven’t told us that yet.”

“Italian,” he answered. “Pasta, to be more specific. And I certainly didn’t cook any of this.”

There was an audible scoff from Bucky’s side of the table. “Course not,” he continued, though there was a faint - a barely noticeable – curl to his lips and a playful sparkle in his gray-blue eyes. “Last I remember, you were about as good at cooking as I was, Rogers.”

Steve straightened, turning and crossing his arms over his chest in the kitchen. “Excuse me? I’m more than capable of making a decent meal, James Buchanan Barnes. Unlike you.”

“Whipping out the middle name, huh? Steven _Grant_ Rogers? There. Now we’re even,” Bucky shot back and the smile on all of their faces just kept growing at the absurdity taking place. Maybe Clint was right. Maybe they were all just overgrown children. “And I’m getting better,” the dark-haired man explained with a nod to the woman sitting across from him. “Rhia’s been teaching me some things these past few months. Haven’t burnt a single thing yet.”

Steve snorted at the thought. “Well, at least one of us can actually cook something,” he said but got back to the matter at hand. “Now, drinks. Answers. Need them.”

They both decided on beer, which Steve was more than happy to drink as well. Though, whether or not the IPA they were all drinking would pair well with the pasta, he didn’t know and frankly didn’t really care. Rhiannon was quick to try and offer her help, but he waved her off. Bottles of beer held between the fingers of his left hand while he cradled one of the fairly hot bowls in his right. Steve returned for the last two and, after setting them down in the middle, sat down in his own chair.

Food was served, each of them piling their plates high, and they ate.

After the first few bites, Rhiannon spoke up after a swig of her beer, “This is from that little place in Northville, right? The same stuff we ended up getting just after New Year’s.”

“Yup,” Steve said with a nod. “They make good stuff and I thought it’d be nice to have again. Good carbs and protein for those us who burn through it all much faster than everyone else.”

“It certainly is. We need to order from this place far more often,” she said, looking up and smiling wide in thanks and appreciation. “You’re the best, Steve.”

“Yeah, Steve, You’re the best,” Bucky chorused, but said it so blandly and sarcastically while trying to keep a perfectly straight face. It didn’t work, though it was obvious that the professionally trained assassin wasn’t trying all that hard to keep his face blank. The three of them ended up laughing, Steve grabbing at his chest, Rhiannon trying to muffle herself into her own hands and Bucky just shaking his head and chuckling along.

“That was bad. So very, very bad,” Rhia eventually managed to gasp out as Steve felt one of her legs jostling underneath the table in an attempt to kick at Bucky’s own legs.

“Still made ya laugh, doll. Made ya both laugh, actually,” the dark-haired man drawled, tipping the neck of his beer bottle at them both with a satisfied sort of smile. “So, I’d count that as a win.”

“Whatever you say.”

They continued to eat, all of them going back for seconds after several minutes had passed, and Steve had a feeling that he and Bucky would be polishing off whatever was left once Rhiannon had had her fill. She was lucky to not have to eat as much as they did. Steve had even taken to carrying snacks around in his pockets to tide over his ever-demanding appetite and he wondered if Bucky had ever done the same.

“So, what did you guys do this earlier this morning? After breakfast?” Steve asked for a change of topic, unintentionally trying to delay the inevitable. He still didn’t feel prepared, but being here with these two was beginning to soothe the doubts and panic and fear. Only a little bit longer and then maybe it would be time to ask the big questions. “And before that whole gun course thing?”

“I went out to the dropship. Checked in on Rome. Did my usual run-through of his systems and those in the ship,” Rhiannon explained as she arranged her silverware on her empty plate and leant back with her beer in hand. “Nothing too exciting. Cold isn’t so good for them, but hopefully the weather will start being a bit more spring-like sooner rather than later. Most of the snow is already gone.”

“Might be. And what’d you do, Buck?”

Bucky shrugged his broad shoulders, swallowing his last bite of pasta before taking a drink to wash it all down, with a content expression. “Went for a walk. Got some fresh air. Made note of a couple decent trails or possible trails – with a bit of work put into them – that go around the property. Might be good for running on once the weather changes.”

“That’s great. Definitely something that we’ll have to look into. Running outdoors is much better than a treadmill,” Steve said more than happy that Bucky was taking some initiative and doing something that he enjoyed doing. Though, the blond was more than certain that the metal-armed man had actually been walking the property’s perimeter. That Bucky had been looking around for weakness that could be exploited in their surroundings by attackers and good places to lie in wait for an ambush. Sensible and more than understandable. Steve had done the same the first time that Tony had brought him out to the Compound, only a few days after the initial meeting with Bucky and Rhiannon.

It was in their nature.

“Cheers to that,” Rhia said with a raise of her bottle. “Can’t remember how many times I got sick of doing exercises while cooped up on ships while in transit. Even running the corridors didn’t feel the same. Going planetside was always such a relief after being shipboard for weeks. Feel some proper ground beneath your boots.”

“The Militia didn’t just jump everywhere?” Steve asked. “Seems like it’d be quicker.”

She nodded in agreement, reaching up to tug on the end of her braid and she looked between the both of them. “For emergency deployments and crossing between star systems? Yeah, we did. But jumps aren’t always pin-point accurate and more often than not we wanted to conserve whatever drive fuel we could and went in on sub-light engines only. Especially in the early days of the War when that shit was hard to find and even harder to steal.”

And then finally, all of the food was gone and the three were left to nurse the remnants of their drinks as a silence fell between them all. That was until Bucky chose to pipe up and break the quiet and bring all of Steve’s nerves back to the forefront.

“Steve, why are we here?” he asked as the pair of them – Bucky and Rhiannon – shifted in their chairs to face him more directly.

This was it. The moment of truth. Where Steve took the leap and hoped for the best. He opened his mouth, preparing to ask them both the question, and instead his words all tumbled out in one long string of unintelligible syllables.

“Willthebothofyougosteadywithme?”

Well done, Rogers.

 _Well done_ , his mind congratulated with the quintessential slow-clap in the background that he’d come to recognize from a lot of modern media. _You’re an idiot and as much of a nervous wreck as you were when you when you were a ninety-pound asthmatic._

He could feel the hot and uncomfortable flush of blood in his cheeks and ears. Could feel the wood of the table begin to bend and warp beneath the tightening grip of his left hand and the amount of danger that the bottle in his right hand was currently in. Steve had to force himself to loosen his grasp on both things, only glancing up when he saw Bucky and Rhiannon shifting to lean forward against the table. Rhiannon looked just as confused as she looked concerned, while Bucky just looked thoughtful but also carefully neutral.

“What?” the blonde woman asked, setting down her now empty beer as she tried to meet his eyes. But he couldn’t. It was just too embarrassing.

“He asked us if we’d go steady with him.”

“Steady. That’s like dating, right? Really?”

“Mhmm.”

“Kinky,” she joked and Steve thought he was going to choke on his own tongue for a hot second, even as Bucky let out a brief bark of startled laughter. “But seriously, what brought this on, Steve?”

“I just… I – You…” Steve looked at Bucky, locking their eyes together. “I love you,” he said with as much earnest passion and conviction as he could put behind those three powerful words, before looking over at Rhiannon with just as much strength. Enough emotional energy behind his gaze that he could see a pinkish blush rising on her own cheeks, something more difficult to discern against her darker skin tone if not for his good vision. “And I like you. A lot. Not just as a friend. You’re beautiful and strong and a hundred other wonderful things that I can’t possibly list. And you love him, I know you do, and he loves you and I just… I want…”

Rhiannon interrupted, cutting his disjointed rambling short with a hand on his closest shoulder. “It’s okay, Steve. I get it. You don’t have to explain anymore,” she said and he was grateful because he didn’t think he could try and explain his feelings any clearer than that at that moment. She turned her head away to the third of their gathering, her hand still on him and her thumb rubbing ever so slightly against the flannel and the tense muscle beneath it. Steve even thought that he could see the beginnings of tears gathering along her bottom eyelashes as she looked to the side. “Bucky?”

The man in question had leant back in his seat, his styled hair falling in disarray around his face as he looked down at his bent legs. His fingers linked together – silver metal against pale skin – twisting and flexing between his knees. “I… I think we should try,” he said softly, picking his head up to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “Because you’re right, Steve. You’ve been right. I do still love you. So much. But I… I also have feelings for Rhia. It was hard… Emotions. Feeling them again. But I just… Want to try. I don’t want to have to choose. I just want a chance to be happy again.”

There was a wet sniffle to Steve’s left as the hand on his shoulder was withdrawn. Both men turned to see Rhiannon wiping at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. But even then, there was a lop-sided sort of smile on her pink lips that wavered and shook with every snuffle.

“Rhia?” Steve asked, tamping down on the desire to just sweep the pair into his arms – to celebrate with Bucky and to comfort Rhiannon and get rid of her tears – and never let them go. “You okay?”

She sniffled once more before dropping her arm and looking back and forth between them both with that very same warbling smile and a far stronger blush on her cheeks. “I’m in,” she said with only the slightest waver to her voice. “You’re both some of the strongest and most compassionate men I’ve ever known and I’m more than honored and flattered that you’d even think to… I didn’t think it would be possible. So, yeah… I’m in.” Her smile grew larger and brighter as she theatrically winked. “Two prime catches like you. Everybody else will be jealous.”

“Dunno ‘bout that,” Steve said, feeling almost overwhelmed with how well this dinner had gone.

How could this have happened?

They said yes. They both said yes!

“Nah. It’s us who got lucky enough to live this long to snag a dame like you,” Bucky added flirtatiously, seeming to be pulling up some of his old charming and smooth-talking ways, as they all stood and began to clear off the table. Rhiannon just laughed with a shake of her head. Though, the flush on her cheeks had yet to dissipate and it wasn’t likely to go away anytime soon if they had their way.

Steve had nothing to say right then, more than happy to let them flirt and tease. He was too busy going through the physical motions of loading up the dishwasher with their dirtied dishes while his mind was too preoccupied with racing, leaping, dancing and singing. And it was in this state of euphoria that he retrieved the small red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting from the fridge and asked if either of them wanted to eat it now or wait until later. They all agreed on now and he sliced the cake into thirds, which wasn’t too horrendous and unhealthy looking give its small size, and divvied them out on plates. Then it was Rhiannon who decided that it was now an appropriate time for them to drink the wine and uncorked the bottle of red and poured all of them half a glass worth.

With cake and wine in tow, the three of them all sat on the couch – Bucky in the middle, Rhiannon on the left and Steve on the right with the remote in his hand. And yet, it was the metal-armed former-assassin who ended up choosing the first movie they would watch that night. The trio had long since finished the six Star Wars films and Steve had taken pleasure in crossing it off out of his little book of things to do and catch up on.

He had chosen a crime film from the early 1990s called **_Goodfellas_** , which Steve was enthralled to learn took place in Brooklyn. The movie began, though Steve got up to turn off the lights in the living room before settling back down and they were content to enjoy the two-and-a-half-hour movie. The wine was drunk, the cake was eaten and soon enough they were all leaning up against each other and had their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders and their fingers laced together where they could.

It was perfect.

And then, as the movie ended and as the credits began to roll, Rhiannon spoke up from her place now curled up on her side against Bucky’s chest. “So, are we kissing on the first date?” she asked and Steve found his head snapping at the mere mention of kissing. Bucky had also tilted his head to the side and down to look at the woman partially sprawled across him. “Is that still a rule or something? Because this was most definitely a date. And it’s Valentine’s Day. But are we taking this thing slow? Should probably iron that out before we start getting too many… ideas.”

“I dunno, Lastimosa,” Bucky said. “You wanting to be kissed by either of us fine gentlemen?”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t,” she said, picking her head up and tilting it just so to look over at them both in the semi-darkness of the room. “Maybe I’d like one from both of you before I go to sleep tonight. Give me some good dreams for once. That is what we’ve just agreed to, right? But only if…” she began to say, but Bucky seemed to have made his own decision about the matter.

His lips slotted over hers before she could say another word and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight. He vaguely remembered disliking seeing Bucky kissing other girls in the past, but the change that could come when he was overwhelmingly attracted to that very same woman. There was no jealousy. At least, as far as he could tell at that moment, though he could admit to being a little bit distracted. Steve watched Bucky and Rhiannon kiss, torn between feeling shamelessly vulgar and disrespectful on one hand and terribly aroused at the sight of their lips moving together. Resisting the need to shift himself on the couch as the muffled signs and muted groans he could hear escaping from them both began to affect him.

They pulled apart, slowly, after less than a minute. Catching their breath as their eyes flickered open and they looked at one another with a glazed sort of stare.

“You really should’ve kissed Steve first, Bucky,” Rhia murmured after a few seconds of recuperation. Her gray-green eyes shifting to look past Bucky towards him – pupils dilated, cheeks flushed and her lips just slightly swollen and parted – with an apologetic expression of her face.

The man in the middle of the couch just hummed and lightly shook his head as he brought up one of his hands to lightly brush the backs of his fingers over one of her cheeks. “Stevie’s had plenty of kisses from me before,” he said quietly. “Gotta get you all caught up, sweetheart.”

But the blonde woman wasn’t having it, pulling away from Bucky’s chest to sit up on her knees, using one of her hands to push his head in Steve’s direction. “That’s not fair. Now you’ve got to kiss him.”

“Better do what the lady wants, Buck,” Steve said, shifting to sit up straighter now that both of their eyes were on him. Anticipation coursed through his body. Frankly, as much as wanted to kiss Buck after all these years, Steve thought that he’d settle for either of them in that second. He was riled up enough to be ready for anything.

“I guess so. I’d hate to have her already mad at me,” Bucky said, his voice growing softer and lower as their heads leant in toward one another. Pulled in by each other’s gravity. Eyes darting down from their half-lidded stare towards each other’s lips and Steve couldn’t help just lick his own expectantly. More than pleased with himself and only growing shorter of breath and helplessly turned on when Bucky’s eyes shifted to latch onto that brief glimpse of his tongue.

“Can’t have that,” Steve whispered with only an inch to spare between them.

It was like coming home and Steve couldn’t help but whimper just the slightest bit when their lips met. It had been so long since he’d last been able to do this. Seventy years of too long. His eyes closed as his arms came up, one fist wrapping itself into the fabric of Bucky’s sweatshirt and the other cupping at his stubbled neck and jaw. Bucky’s one free arm wrapping its way around his own neck as their lips slid and pulled and danced against each other. Lips against lips turning into a passionately messy open-mouthed kiss that Steve wouldn’t have stopped even if the world was ending around him.

But eventually even they needed to breathe and separated, softly gasping for air and staring rather dumbly into each other’s eyes. Steve glanced over towards Rhiannon, trying to gauge her reaction and found her perched even closer than she had been. One of her hands fisted just as tightly as Steve’s own had been in the back of Bucky’s sweatshirt, his metal arm having been wrapped around her waist and her breathing just a little bit faster than it normally might’ve been.

“You two look good together,” she announced to break the silence, her voice low and that accent of hers thicker than it had ever been. “Damn good.”

Bucky hummed in pleasure at the statement, almost preening as he settled back against the cushions, but Steve felt compelled to speak, “But now we look better, because we have you.” His eyes trailed down to her partly open mouth and he decided that he wanted to kiss her too.

She’d asked for it, remember.

He reached out with his newly freed right arm, his left still wrapped up in Bucky’s sweatshirt, and held his open hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her slowly forward and over Bucky who, getting the gist of Steve’s plan, used the arm he had around her waist to help him bring her directly into their laps. Sprawled none too elegantly over them both, her lower half and legs mostly on Bucky and her torso and arms leaning in towards Steve.

“Ready for your turn, beautiful?” he asked, their faces almost perfectly level at that moment.

She answered by leaning in with a tilt of her head, noses just slightly brushing against one another as they breathed in each other for a split second, before letting him have it. And Steve might’ve felt his toes curl inside of his socks when he felt two different pairs of hands running over him at the same time.

Oh, yes.

This was the right decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Steve Rogers' Birthday, everyone! And the birthday boy gets his own very special and momentous chapter! We made it folks! They together now! They datin'! They kissin'! It can only go up from here, right? Right? Next update to come maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. My schedule is all messed up right now and I'm trying to iron out what sort of allotment of days works the best for writing and posting. I really want to just give myself one day off to just brainstorm and outline ideas without the pressure of trying to actually write anything. Oh well, enough of me complaining.
> 
> And now time for the fun facts of this chapter, for those of you who might not be aware of such things and are actually curious. AR500 is the type of treated steel that is used for shooting targets, body armor and vehicle armor (for combat related uses) because it is notoriously hard and very durable to withstand the impact of bullets (or other high velocity things) without sending off odd ricochets that might end up hurting someone if they're in the wrong place. And quad loading is when a person with a shotgun goes to reload their gun with four shells from a specially designed sort of rack (called a caddie). They grab the four shells, 2 and 2 lengthwise, with only the upper portion of the hand (fingers and upper half of the palm) and slide them very smoothly with the first 2 and then the other 2 without pause. If you look online you can probably watch a video of someone doing it and there is no way that someone along the line didn't teach the Winter Soldier how to do that because it is such a pro-move. Also, Rhia's hairstyle is a side Dutch braid. Braiding is kind of going to be her thing, because that's just the easiest way to deal with that much hair.


	27. Chapter 27

**1330 HOURS | JUNE 03, 2617 | IMC WORLD FOUNDRY & DYNAMIC TESTING FACILITY, TYPHON**

“Pilot Lastimosa. Pilot… Cooper. If either of you can read me, RA-5172 and myself are being taken to this facility’s sub-station.”

Rhiannon and Jack slowed their frantic pace, perched atop an enormous pipe, as the radio in their helmets crackled to life with the sound of BT-7274’s voice. Both of their Titans had been taken from them by a pair of manipulator arms that had been idling above a cargo elevator. And now the veteran and the newly-minted Acting Pilot were in a desperate rush to rescue their mechanical partners.

“How do we get to you, BT?” Jack asked, so far dealing quite well with the absolutely shit show that he had been thrown head-first into.

“Is Rome alright? Why isn’t he responding?” Rhia chorused.

“During our seizure, his transmitter was damaged,” BT, her father’s Titan, replied. “Automated repairs are underway. You both must follow the pipes to the lower levels.” A hard crackle of static echoed through the channel and both she and Cooper flinched at the abrasive sound rasping its way through their ears. “Warning… losing contact…”

She ignored the sinking feeling her gut. The instinctual knowledge that something bad was going to happen. That danger was going to be around every corner. This was a fucking planet controlled by the IMC and they had no back-up or contact with whatever remained of the Fleet. Of course, they were in danger. No fucking shit.

“Come on, Jack. We gotta keep moving.”

“On your six, Rhia.”

They followed a pipe further into whatever this place was. Dropping down several meters without trouble because of their jumpkit and wall running across support platforms – or maybe they were defective templates, or something – as they pursued their captured Titans. In the back of her mind, far from active thought, Rhiannon was more than proud of how far Cooper had come. Remembering the days when he had been nervous and timid around any sort of Titan. And now, here he was picking up her father’s mantle and doing it justice.

It was an eerie sight. To see a man that she considered a friend – almost a brother – wearing her dad’s gear. His jumpkit. His helmet. Even his body armor. The belongings of a man who hadn’t even been in the ground for more than a few days. Rhiannon was still reeling from the news. Her rage and grief had been shoved away, locked into a box to only be let out once more when the mission was done. This was no time to have – another – emotional breakdown.

She already felt guilty for the mottled black and blue that had spread across Jack’s jaw.

They dropped down and made the several meter jumpkit-assisted leap across a gaping chasm, the bottom obscured from view so there was no telling how deep it went into the bedrock of the planet. A lone MRVN paid them no mind as they moved over to where an exhaust fan for the air circulation system had been removed, most likely for repairs of some sort. But easy access to a ventilation shaft that went in the direction they needed to go was just what they needed.

“I’ll go first. Count to five and then follow,” she ordered before swinging herself into it. Like a children’s slide on a playground, she descended rapidly and braced herself to land a metal-grate walkway as it appeared below even as she heard voices from nearby.

“Bloody hell! This job is for MRVNs. Not trained infantry.”

“Too right, mate. We’re overqualified for this pitiful assignment. I don’t see why we need that bloody Simulacrum giving us orders.”

Rhia landed in a crouch, knees bent to soften the blow and keep her landing as quiet as possible. She triggered her cloaking tech and stalked forwards with murderous intent. A trio of IMC grunts at the end of the walkway never knew what hit them. The first got his neck snapped by the almost entirely invisible woman that had crept up behind him. Numbers two and three were scrambling and fumbling for their guns as they tried to gain some distance.

They didn’t make it far.

Rhia swung up the Mozambique – an energy shotgun put in a pistol design – that had been holstered on her thigh and opened fire. Two pulls of the trigger and the pair dropped with the female Titan Pilot standing over both of their twitching corpses, looking down in satisfaction at the mangled mess she had made of their heads.

“Rhia?” She turned her head to look over at Jack, standing on the far end of the grates with a Devotion LMG held loosely in his hands. “You good?” he asked with audible concern, despite that fact she could not see his face through the helmet.

“Fine,” she said, holstered in the gun and stepped over the bodies to look out over the mess that awaited them now. An assembly line of some sort with massive moving parts everywhere. Plenty of hazards to navigate through. One wrong step or ill-timed jump and they would be dead. “Well, this is going to be a bitch and a half to navigate.”

Jack came up to stand beside her, the tops of their shoulders level with each other as they were the same height, and nodded his head. “You can say that again.”

The radio channel – the hijacked feed that Cooper had nicked from the mercenary Kane’s corpse – went active in their ears. They both paused to listen in on what the Apex Predators had to say this time.

“Blisk, this is Ash. I have a pair of Vanguard-class Titans. What would you like me to do with them?”

“I don’t bloody care. Destroy them.”

How Rhiannon’s blood boiled to hear that man speaking. How she desired more than anything to put a bullet between his eyes. No, not even that. That was too quick for someone like him. She’d string that motherfucker up by his ankles and gut him. Maybe just hurt him enough and then throw him to a pack of Prowlers.

It was the least he deserved – him and all his psychopathic cronies – for all that they had done. To her and to others. She would have her vengeance for her father’s death – the justice that he was owed – before her time on this fucking planet was done.

No trial. No due process.

Nothing more than lead and steel was what any of the Predators would be getting from her.

“What about their Pilots?” Blisk asked.

“They are being dealt with,” Ash, a Simulacrum of mostly unknown origins believed to have some sort of connection with the Remnant Fleet, replied. “This facility was built to kill. I’m sure I can take advantage of that, if I have to.”

“Ash, that place is not your bloody playground! I’m not paying you to be clever. You scuttle that place if you have to, eh? Blisk out.” And then, the channel went quiet and Rhia looked from her survey of their surroundings to Cooper.

“Well, they know we’re here,” she said, more than disappointed that they hadn’t been able to maintain at least some semblance of stealth. But then again, with their Titans being taken who-knows-where by the facility’s mechanisms, she should have known that someone would think to look for their Pilots. And all evidence labeled Ash as a very intelligent and capable individual, who would have done exactly that.

“Yeah…” Jack said slowly, hefting his gun and shifting his stance as a show of nerves, until the voice of BT once again came over their own radio channel.

“Pilots, we are being taken down an assembly line,” the Vanguard-class announced. “There may be a common exit at which we could rendezvous and proceed. I recommend that you both follow the flow of the platforms. But be advised, this facility is extremely dangerous, watch for crushing hazards on the assembly line.”

“Received, BT. We’re on our way,” Rhia said before focusing on her friend, who was still watching the movement of the platforms through the area with what she knew to be nervousness. Sometimes she forgot that he had only been a Pilot for two days. He wasn’t a veteran like her and clearly needed some encouragement. “You can do this, Jack. You’re as natural a Pilot as I’ve ever seen and I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

“You don’t have… I can…”

“Jack,” she interrupted, jostling his shoulder with her own. “Together or not at all, yeah? So, we’ll jump on one of these platforms and ride it over to there.” She pointed across the way to where she could see the tiny outlines of Grunts and Stalkers patrolling around one of the assembly line’s stations.

“Okay… No. Yeah, I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit. BT and Rome are counting on us.”

And then, they were off. Double jumping across the gap onto the nearest platform as it coasted by, maintaining their balance as it was transferred into the grasp of another loading arm before leaping off at just the right time as it was tilted on its side. None of the enemies had noticed their arrival.

“Flank left,” she said softly over their private comm link, pulling the EVA-8 from her back and making it ready to fire. “Meet on the other side where the platforms leave this station and resupply as you go.” Jack tapped her shoulder twice in acknowledgement before the pair of Pilots broke apart and moved in to engage the IMC.

One shot at center mass for every Grunt as she leapt and ran in circles around them all, some of them even falling prey to friendly fire. Flanking around a more heavily armored soldier with a front-facing particle wall projected from his gear, peppering his back with two shells worth of buckshot. Reloading on the fly with a new drum of shells as she met back up with Jack on the far side.

Riding another platform, resurfaced to look like rock instead of flat concrete, towards a machine that spat out a layer of turf over the rock. Leaping and bouncing off of a hanging wall to and from that platform before disembarking at another assembly station. Jack took out the nearest pair of Grunt with his light machine gun as Rhiannon sprinted by with a cooking fragmentation grenade in her hand. A quick flick of her wrist sent it towards another Grunt with a particle wall, who was being flanked by a pair of Stalkers with L-STARs.

Wall running, jumping and shooting as they went. Tearing through the IMC forces with the finesse and superior combat abilities that Pilots were known for. Grunts, Stalker and even some Spectres deployed as reinforcements fell beneath their onslaught. Even with the disadvantages that Rhiannon had found herself with after her fiery crash upon deployment – both in regards to her physical self, which was on the mend, and her equipment. Her grapple line was busted beyond her ability to fix in the field. The technological that allowed her to produce Holographic Decoys and Phase Shift had been broken when she had crash landed. And, of course, to top it all off, she had chosen to leave her A-Wall projection cylinder behind on this mission. All she had that functioned were her ability to Cloak and the several vials of Stim tucked in one of her pouches. However, every last vial of Pilot Stimulant was to being saved for a situation where she or Jack might truly end up needing it.

Rhiannon exchanged her Mozambique for an L-STAR, which she had ripped from the robotic grasp of one particular Stalker. She jumped away – propelled by her jumpkit to reach a height several meters up in the air – and angled herself towards another Grunt. She leapt down from the wall to cave in his skull and break his neck with a singular, and particularly brutal, kick from behind.

It was surprising how well Rhiannon actually found herself working with Cooper in the field.

They’d never fought with each other before. Not even in a Sim. Their only interactions of this nature were when her father had pulled her into a handful of Jack’s training sessions. Using her as an example for Cooper to copy to learn the skills needed to become a Pilot. And for all his unfamiliarity and newness to the role of a Pilot, the Generation One nanites were doing their job and doing it well. She could see it when Jack would run from cover to cover, trying his best to integrate a Pilot’s mobile style of gun-play with all of his rifleman training, and be surprised when he reached his destination far faster than he usually might have. When he swung out with a fist at a Grunt who had gotten to close and found himself nearly killing the poor bastard in one solid hit.

They kept moving, exchanging their guns for those with more readily accessible ammunition, stocking their pouches and bandoliers with as many grenades as they could carry.

Rhiannon slid into cover and snatched up a Longbow DMR from an open weapons crate, peeking out on her knees and sniping two Grunt in the heads as they peered out from their own hiding spots. “Turret in the far back! Behind the barricade! Frag it!” she called out to Jack, who had flanked off to the left to another suitable spot to take cover in.

“Frags out!” he called back as two grenades were lobbed into view. They clinked off the ground once, bouncing and then rolling just under their target. The turret exploded shortly thereafter in a burst of flame and smoke and shrapnel, some of which took out a Grunt standing too close as she took the head off another with the designated marksman rifle. A hail of gunfire from Cooper’s position took the sole survivor – another particle wall toting Grunt – in the side and they fell down dead.

A lone pair of Spectres, the only ones left, died beneath a spray of crimson-colored accelerated particles from Rhiannon’s L-STAR. They melted under the assault, sparking from their joints and circuitry, before they fell down into a heap of what was now essentially scrap metal. A wall-mounted weapons rack caught both of their eyes and Jack changed out his Devotion, which was horrendously low on ammo, for a VK-47 Flatline. Rhia kept her L-STAR and DMR, but was ever mindful of the B3 Wingman Elite – her holdout revolver – that was still strapped to her leg.

She and Jack leapt aboard the next platform to continue their trip along the assembly line.

“Radio contact reestablished,” the most welcome voice of her own Titan announced over the radio. “I am now intact and fully functional, Pilot Lastimosa. Providing status update. We are now being taken through an area stocked with many prefabricated structures. We are not far apart. It is suggested that you continue to move forward.”

“Affirmative, Rome. Happy to hear your voice again.”

“The feeling is shared, Pilot Lastimosa,” RA-5172 replied and Rhia missed her Titan all the more. She would get him back from this place one way or another.

“We’re going to make it out of this,” Jack added. “You guys just hang in there. We’re on our way.”

“Your shared confidence that we will reconnect is encouraging. This ability to stay positive is the mark of a good Pilot,” BT said and Rhiannon was glad to see that her father’s Titan and Jack were getting along. Probably even beginning to forge a stronger bond between them.

It was hard not to become close – to an odd sort of middle ground between that of a friend, a sibling and a significant other – with the neural link that connected a Pilot to their Titan.

“Do either of you have any idea what the hell it is that they’re building here?” Rhia asked, finding herself to be overwhelming curious to know for both tactical and personal reasons.

“Unknown. But I doubt that the IMC are mass producing homes,” Rome said.

“Nah. Fuckers are usually too busy destroying them,” Jack growled at her side as their focus shifted the enemies waiting for them, scrambling to and fro, at the next assembly station. “Got Ticks, Rhia.”

“Yeah, I see them.” A handful of the little spider-like drones, their spherical bodies stuffed to the brim with explosives and would detonate themselves when they got within a certain distance to their targets. “Just keep moving and I’ll take them out as you shoot everyone else.”

She posted up with the DMR and Jack moved along to the side, strafing the troopers with bullets and flinging a couple of grenades into their midst. A full magazine of bullets to take out the swarming Ticks, one for each of their fragile little bodies that were so easy to detonate prematurely. Another wave approached from the far side, clusters of Tick and IMC troops too dumb to distance themselves from the drones. She eliminated all but a handful with just a few well-placed shots and then she and Jack kept going. They couldn’t get bogged down. They couldn’t stop moving, pushing forward, delving deeper and deeper into this facility.

They continued onto another platform to keep following the assembly line, again and again. Fighting through every station before hopping back onto another prefabricated platform. Each time there would be more framing. More fake furniture. Walls and doors and windows on these fake homes that were being made. More Grunts. More Stalkers. More Spectres. Even a turret or two set up in anticipation of their arrival. And, of course, more fucking Ticks.

Shooting and then sliding into cover. Reloading and then wall running towards the next cluster of enemies while cloaked from view. Rhiannon just kept going and going and going. But she took care to split her attention even between those she was fighting and Jack, who continued to do well. But it hardly meant that they had remained unscathed. Glancing hits from a Stalker’s L-STAR had scorched her chestplate when Rhia had been too slow to react in time. A bullet had grazed Jack’s upper arm, but the bleeding had been quick to stop and he didn’t even act like he had been hit. But that didn’t mean that when they boarded another platform, which looked like it was going to take some time to reach its next destination, the two began to tend to their minor wounds and just sit down and relax for a moment.

The radio went live with BT’s voice as he said, “Pilot Cooper. Pilot Lastimosa. Are you both all right?”

“With our luck so far,” Jack joked. “This place is going to turn itself inside out next.”

“Or upside down, considering the circumstances,” BT added unhelpfully.

“Knock it off, you two. Don’t need you jinxing us when we’ve already made it this far.”

“Apologies, Pilot Lastimosa.”

“You’re forgiven, BT. Where are you and Rome now? You guys doing okay?”

But the radio cut off as the Facility’s public announcement system came online with low and feminine voice of their current adversary. The Apex Predator in charge of this place.

“I see you, Pilots,” Ash said as Rhia felt the hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickle at the sudden sensation of being watched. “I admire your perseverance. If only the IMC infantry were as dedicated. There is only one way out, Pilots… Up.” Their platform twisted onto its side and the pair of Pilots found themselves standing atop a fake bookcase and sturdy windows. The final wall enclosed them into the space.

“Pilots,” Rome suddenly announced over their uninterrupted channel. “Scans have indicated that the dome above your location is your best course of action to finding an exit. I recommend that you both get there by any means necessary.”

“Received, Rome. We’re going,” Rhia said, glancing over at Jack to assess his readiness. He nodded and they were off, climbing through the sideways building up and out before wall running over to the next building in the arranged line.

“The dome is waiting,” Ash all but cooed over the PA system as Rhiannon and Jack continued to climb, now making their way across the very cranes that held and transferred the house platforms from place to place. “Rest assured that I will not execute you summarily. You have my word.”

“Like her word means jack shit,” Rhia growled out as she was answered by a bark of laughter from Jack on her six. “You keep your eyes fucking peeled, Cooper. We’re walking into one hell of a trap.”

“No. I couldn’t tell.”

“Don’t be a fucking smartass.”

“Can’t help it.”

The two landed on a walkway, a secure place and not likely to be moving anytime soon, as they waited for whatever it was that Ash had in store for them. The ceiling above their heads began to break apart. Long segments of scorched grass, fake houses and vehicles that had been damaged by what looked like ordinance being pulled down from above and vanished further into some other part of the facility.

“Simulation Dome Scenario activated. Resetting terrain,” a toneless and robot male voice boomed.

“That was impressive, Pilots. You’ve made it all this way alive. Unfortunately for you both, there is only one way out. Go ahead. Step onto a moving platform.”

And so, they did just that as fresh segment began to twist, cycling forward and rising to refresh whatever sort of false environment waited for them above into a pristine state. And all the while, they played host to the mocking congratulations of the Simulacrum in control of their surroundings.

Her treatment of them as if they were nothing more than children. No, not even that.

She treated them like they were test subjects in a lab.

“Loading Scenario 1-2-7 in Dynamic Simulation Dome 3-1-4,” the voice announced. It was most likely some sort of low-quality AI that operated within this section of the facility.

The area went dark and Ash spoke once more, her voice echoing with no clear point of origin.

“Now… We shall see how impressive you truly are.”

“Scenario 1-2-7 loading complete,” the AI said.

“Let us begin…”

Never before, not even on Demeter, had Rhiannon been in such a frantic gunfight. She ran, screaming for Jack and those poor Militia bastards that had been captured to stay with her as they ran for cover in one of the houses. Having the handful of riflemen fortify themselves inside while she and Jack raced around the dome to do what they did best as Pilots. Radio contact with their Titans was reestablished as both BT-7274 and Ra-5172, tapping into the video feed of their helmets, offered what limited help they could from wherever it was they were being held.

They fought Spectres. They fought some sort of new automated combat units called Reapers, which looked like a hybrid machine created from an up-armored Stalker and a Titan. These new toys of the IMC that shot a nearly endless stream of plasma rockets from their arms. They could jump as high as a Pilot could and leap as far as a Pilot could and she witnessed as one such unit broke into the house and decimated the unprepared and exhausted Militia soldiers inside.

“Your tactics are impressive,” Ash goaded as the pair managed to survive for a certain amount of time. Resupplying when they could, taking vantage points and raining down grenades and gunfire before relocating to another location when they came under fire. “I’m sure the IMC won’t mind if I deploy a few more units to truly test your mettle.”

“Deploying additional Reapers to test scenario,” the toneless voice of the dome’s AI announced.

“Let’s make this a little more interesting…”

More Reapers. More Stalkers and Spectres.

And a swarm of Ticks that fell from the ceiling.

“The IMC really ought to thank me for helping make the Reaper more effective. Perhaps I’ll have to renegotiate my contract. But how strange it is… This is taking longer than expected. You both should have died by now.”

“Not fucking likely!” Cooper shouted as he slammed a new magazine into the Spitfire he had picked up from a weapons crate as Rhiannon threw a pair of frag grenades into a pack of Spectres.

And then, they got their chance to escape when Ash ordered IMC soldiers in to engage them personally, instead of just leaving it to the automated machines. Rhia and Jack quickly mowed through the troopers and their supporting Stalkers and broke free from the Dome. Their Titans still trapped somewhere else in this place, but intact and operational, which was more than Rhia could’ve hoped for. The enemies beyond the open gate were dealt with swiftly as Rhia led the charge with a Firestar and her Wingman.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

The thump of bodies was then followed by the dying screams of the two she had caught in the spray of the incendiary throwing star. The final one falling as Jack rushed him and wrapped an arm around the other man’s neck. A sharp turn and pull and the body dropped with the helmeted head twisted at a sharply unnatural angle.

“As I should have expected, the IMC infantry clearly lack your resolve. Perhaps I have no choice but to step in personally. A rare miscalculation on my part.”

They ignored Ash’s most recent announcement as they ran, slid and jumped down a cluster of white piping, continuing downwards once again into another section of the Dynamic Testing Facility in pursuit of their Titans. Along the way a burst feed transmission was received from both BT and Rome, a status update on their numerous failed attempted to free themselves from the manipulator arms that had captured them in the first place.

And BT’s apparent reevaluation of his definition for the word “shortcut”.

The location marker, set by their Titans, led them through a cave system.

“Ash, tell me you killed those Pilots,” Blisk demanded over the tapped channel, sounding impatient.

“I am dealing with them.”

The mercenary growled under his breath over the comm. “Stop getting caught up in your games.”

“Am I not allowed to enjoy myself while I work?” Ash asked.

“Not when your work suffers.”

“Point taken,” the Simulacrum conceded, yet her voice remained unchanged. “Ash out.”

“Don’t worry,” came Blisk’s final words over the radio and Rhiannon felt a chill run its way down her spine. “With the price I’m putting on both of their heads, you’ll be able to buy all the toys you want.”

Explosions suddenly began to go off in the distance and Ash began to announce over the PA that she was scuttling the foundry and testing facility. To detonate the entire complex just to kill two Pilots. It was overkill and the Simulacrum even admitted it openly. But Rhiannon and Jack ran all the faster, activating enormous cylinders that were stacked high with containment units for prowlers from a console before using the ejected units to climb. Up and away from the explosions that continued to echo throughout the tunnels. Both of them on edge as the wild animals shrieked and clawed beneath their booted feet, some even managing to break free only to immediately fall to their deaths.

“Pilots, we do no know what you did, but a series of explosions have weakened the manipulator arms. We have broken free,” BT announced as the pair continued their harried climb up the units and onto what looked like the roof panels of another simulation dome that began to swarm with Ticks and Spectres. “This facility is now falling apart. I suggest that we leave immediately. You both are not far from our position. Marking your HUD with a rendezvous point.”

And finally, there they were. The pair of Vanguard-class Titans in all their glory as they engaged in a battle against enemy forces swarming into the area. It felt like coming home as Rhiannon leapt into the cockpit of RA-5172. To feel the comforting tingle of the neural link connecting and once again having a forty-ton war machine at her beck and call.

A prowler leapt at her and she caught its squirming body in one of her hands, flinging it towards one of the nearby Reapers before firing a burst from the XO-16 to bring it down. Targeted missiles were fired at even more prowlers than were in a frenzied state of mind. BT and Rome staying back to back as they made their way towards the exit that the two Titans had identified.

Brute and Ronin-class Titans, two of each, entered the battle from a gaping hole in the side of the dome and the two Vanguards moved to engage and Rhia caught sight of a Northstar-class leveling a charging Plasma Railgun in their direction.

“Jack, move! Sniper!” she called out over the comms, dashing to the side just in time to avoid a shot from the Northstar, which also brought her closer to one of the Ronins. She could use that sword of theirs. “Take the Brutes. I’ll handle the Ronins,” she ordered, pursuing the pair of lighter and faster modeled Titans around the corner of one of the intact buildings, peppering one’s back with her machine gun while locking onto the other with missiles.

They were inferior Pilots, Rhiannon thought as the first exploded under her barrage. She turned on the second, after checking to see that Jack was doing just fine in dispatching the Brutes while dodging the Northstar’s railgun. The last Ronin had a buckled leg joint, sustained fire from the Chaingun had eaten through the metal, and the pilot was trying their best to limp away.

Not on her watch.

She and Rome bowled them over in a charge, knocking them onto the ground while enduring the glancing and desperate shots from their Leadwall, and pried the broadsword from their grasp…

And drove the sharpened sheet of metal through the cockpit with the sound of tearing metal and the brief ear-piercing shriek of the pilot’s death.

She and her Titan withdrew the sword, turning to throw the blade with all of their strength and skill at the Northstar. The sniper had been lining up a shot on BT and Jack, their vision undoubtedly tunneled in on what they thought to be easy prey, but found themselves to be the hunted. The sword did not hit perfectly, but it lodged itself into the shoulder, passing through the hull and right into the array of high-powered thrusters on its back. Crippled and an easy target, Rhia unleashed a handful of missiles towards the Northstar just as Jack and BT finished off the last of the Brutes with a spectacular explosion.

They ran after that. Barging through the hole in the wall and into the expansive cave system beyond. The caverns crumbling and shaking to the extent that even inside of her Titan, Rhia could feel them in her bones. They met an IMC pilot in a Tone-class fighting through a horde of enraged prowlers, but they fell quickly beneath the might of two Vanguards and the prowlers were left to their own devices as the two kept sprinting onwards. Running, running and running as fast as they could push the Titans to go.

They had to get to the exit.

They had to get out of this place before it all caved in on top of their heads.

And in the shattered remnants of another simulation dome, broken and all but destroyed by the boulder and sheets of metal falling everywhere, Ash finally found them.

Phasing into existence in a heavily customized Ronin-class Titan on the far side and broadcasting across an open frequency, “Blisk has put a high price on your heads, Pilots. Dead or alive, that makes you worth something to me. And now, let us begin.”

Rhia and Jack split up to try and pin the mercenary in between them, corner her and deal with her quickly, but somehow the battle seemed to go all wrong.

Spectres armed with anti-Titan weapons – Charge Rifles, MGLs, Thunderbolts and Archers – were seemingly perched on every rooftop. Reapers began to appear from the numerous entrances, their rockets doing truly insane amounts of damage to their Titans and everything else in the vicinity.

It was too much. Far too much. Rome’s armor was already down to half and they had no shields to speak of. BT, however, looked even worse if the open flames streaming from his thrusters and exhaust system were anything to go by. They needed to either turn the tides and win this fast, maybe even get lucky and find some batteries nearby to replenish their energy, or they needed to turn tail and just run for it.

“Jack!” she shouted over the comm, only to get deafened by a proximity alarm and broadsided by a barrage of Reaper rockets. She pulled up an arm with the Vortex Shield activated, catching the rockets as best she could in the energy field before reflecting them back at her enemies.

“Your mistakes will be your undoing,” Ash announced over the radio and Rhia turned onto to see BT getting knocked to the ground by the black and yellow Ronin, bombarded with a full cylinder of shot from her Leadwall. “Very disappointing. I expected so much more from you.” The Ronin’s sword came up and neither Rhia or Rome could do anything, bogged down as they were under the fire of what had to be nearly a dozen Reapers, but bear witness as the blade came down in one fell swoop.

BT sparked and went limp as the sole human heartbeat in the corner of her HUD, the place reserved to display members of a fireteam, flat-lined with a mournful drone.

They were gone. Both of them.

Just like that.

“Perfect,” the Simulacrum purred and Rhia felt herself be swallowed by rage driven by grief.

First, her father is taken from her and now she’s lost both BT and Jack.

No. NO!

No more.

“I’ll kill you!” Rhiannon shrieked over the radio, dashing out from the barrage of the Reapers, targeting as many as she could with her own missiles, before circling around one of the shattered buildings. Rome barreled through a low wall as they brought the Chaingun to bear on Ash, who still stood proudly over her kills. “Come here, you bitch!”

They brawled, because there was no longer any finesse to this fight in Rhia’s mind. She was beyond the capacity for logic or reasoning after all that she had now suffered. Drum after drum of twenty-millimeter rounds were shot at the Simulacrum and her Ronin as they dodged and phased away like the fucking cowards they were. Missiles were split between Rhiannon’s primary target and the other foes around the broken dome. Thinning the herd just enough so they could live long enough to bring down Ash and take their vengeance.

“Excessive damage. Warning. Warning. Battery is required,” Rome announced, but there was no time to seek out a battery station nearby. There was no time! They still had enough armor and power to see this fight through. Just a little under a third of the bar.

“Come on, Rome. We’ve got this. We’ve fucking got this!” she shouted. “We can’t let them down. Not now. Not again.” She urged her Titan onwards, throwing up the Vortex Shield to catch shots from Ash’s Leadwall and she dashed back into range. But Rhia was suddenly jostled in her seat, the harness straps pulling tight to keep her from flying around in the small space, as they took a strong impact in the shoulder. Damage reports flashed up on the side of the display screens, which read that the entire joint had been compromised. Melted from the outside in.

They were down an arm.

A flash of white as Ash phased into being right in front of them, in the split second it had taken for Rhia to read the report, and the broadsword swung upwards to unleash a point-blank Arc Wave along the ground. Both Rhiannon and her Titan spasmed under the electrical current, circuits popping and overloading as they were temporarily rendered helpless. A volley of shotgun shells crashed into RA-5172’s chassis and Rhia stared in terror as one particular shell punched a hole right between her feet.

No, no, no!

“Your persistence is honorable, but your demise… It is inevitable.”

Another Arc Wave racked through her Titan and Rhia was beginning to not be able to feel her fingers and toes. Her brain felt fuzzy as her surroundings blurred – all she could see was the rapid downward tick of her Titan’s status bar. Yellow, black and red.

Doomed State.

Her head swam and swirled and before her very eyes her entire environment rearranged itself into something else entirely. Rome was suddenly gone, though on the air she could faintly detect that acrid and wholly unique scent of a recent Titan nuclear ejection. Rhiannon was out of the cockpit, sprawled out on the ground – helmetless and weaponless – just watching in a dazed state of being as everything around her burned, crumbled and shook itself into pieces.

She could smell burning fuel and flesh on the air, could hear people screaming in the distance and the howling of animals in pain. Rhia tried to move her arms but found that she couldn’t. Tried to shift her legs and found them numb and unresponsive. Something was wrong. What had happened? Where was she? It looked like she was still in the dome, but where… how…. She couldn’t remember anything.

“How disappointing,” a familiar voice said and a slim figure, vaguely feminine and yet robotic, swam into view from the very edge of Rhiannon’s line of sight.

It was Ash.

Only Ash.

No Titans. No Reapers. No one else but them and Rhia couldn’t do anything about it as her enemy got closer and closer. She couldn’t move much more than to turn her head ever so slightly. Couldn’t even pick up a weapon – anything she could find - to blow whatever a Simulacrum had for brains out with a well-placed bullet or just beat her until she was reduced to scrap metal.

“How very disappointing to see a Pilot of your caliber reduced to nothing,” Ash taunted as she came to a stop at Rhiannon’s side, sinking down into a crouch and tilting her head to the side. That emotionless, white mask of a face. Unmoving even as she spoke and her eyes nothing more than black holes. Looking more like empty sockets than anything else if not for the faint reflection of light off their curved surface and the trail of black carved down her cheeks. Like tears.

As if someone like her could cry.

Rhiannon began to open her mouth to reply. To snap back and goad the Simulacrum into making a mistake. Rhiannon had to figure out what was going on. Had to get control of her body back. To do something. Anything. But no sooner had she thought of it, Ash was there, now straddling Rhia’s body and leaning in close to whisper her next words. Her threats, lies and truths trickling out like poison.

Hissing like snake in the grass, slithering closer and closer to deliver the fatal bite.

“To see Rhiannon Lastimosa broken and defeated by someone like me. How shameful. What would your father think to see you so… weak? What would Rifleman Third Class Jack Cooper think to see you unable to avenge his death?”

Two hands of chilled metal, the fingers thin and unyielding, began to be wrapped around Rhiannon’s vulnerable neck. Just the lightest squeeze began to constrict her breathing, air now escaping in rasping inhales and exhales against the weight baring slowly down on her delicate throat.

“How would the Militia feel to see that you have so easily turned your back on them for a handful of strangers? A couple of dubious spies who would just as soon kill you if you stepped one toe out of line? A genius inventor who was formerly just the sort of person that you would have sooner killed than considered as a friend? A mutant freak born of his own foolhardy ambitions who cannot be stopped or controlled? An alien with more power in one of his fingers than you have in your whole body? A normal man who thinks he can fly? And a pair of damaged super-soldiers? Washed up veterans from primitive wars on a primitive planet?”

What? What was she talking about? Rhiannon scrambled for answers but her mind wouldn’t focus on anything. It couldn’t. Something was still wrong with her. Something was wrong. Northing Ash was saying was making any sense. There was something she had forgotten about. It was right there, eluding her grasp every time she tried to catch it and make sense of this hell that she had found herself in.

But she couldn’t.

And so, she was left to flounder.

“To think that the Militia would’ve emerged victorious in this war if they had still had you to fight for them? But now… Now they’ve lost one of their best and the IMC and Remnant Fleet are tightening the noose.” Ash’s hands on the neck began to tighten in time with her words. “Bit by bit by bit.” She leant down until the two were nearly nose to nose – smooth ceramic against skin – as Rhiannon’s vision began to darken and waver as she suffocated under the metallic stranglehold. “The Militia is lost. They’ve lost and you are never going to be able to come home to save them. We’ve won, Lastimosa. We’ve won and you’re dead.”

The hands tightened and tightened and Rhiannon couldn’t breathe anymore. She gasped and choked, suddenly able to move her limbs in a miraculous final struggle to survive. Her gloved hands coming up the claw and yank and punch at the figure above her in desperation, but to no avail.

Vision blurring, darkened. Spots and stars crowding in from the sides. Her hearing fading away.

And then darkness swallowed her whole and she felt nothing.

She was nothing.

* * *

**0339 HOURS | FEBRUARY 28, 2015 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

Rhiannon woke with a start, her eyes flickered open as she felt every muscle in her body tense in the anticipation of a fight. And for those first few moments Rhiannon could still feel the squeeze of Ash's robotic hands around her neck. The desperate need to breathe, to gasp and draw in the air that she needed to survive. To fight and claw her way back from the brink of death. Still reeling from the emotional upheaval – the heart wrenching pain – of seeing Jack and BT killed right in front of her. The grief that felt so fresh that she was on the verge of tears as she blinked and felt dampness.

All of Ash's taunting words echoing around and around and around inside of Rhiannon’s skull. Even as her mind finally managed to catch up with the present day and finally understand all of the things that the mercenary Simulacrum had whispered to her in those final moments.

It had been a dream.

Nothing more than her memories twisted and turned into a deranged nightmare. She realized this as she remembered that they had won that fight. That Ash had died under their bullets and missiles and they had gone on to adhere to their orders for Special Operation 217. Rendezvousing with SRS Major Anderson – poor fucking Eli, hadn’t deserve the lot that he’d gotten for his service – and then all of the events that had come afterwards.

Rhiannon remembered where she was as her head shifted on the pillow and she caught sight of the dark-haired man nestled in front of her on his side. The comforting presence of above-average body heat emanating from just behind her. Feeling the pair of muscular arms that had been draped over her waist and stomach after the three of them had made themselves comfortable for the night. All of them crawling into her bed, which was luckily just large enough to fit them all, after two of three had dozed off on the couch after another length movie night marathon.

Bucky and Steve.

They were with her.

This was Earth and the year was 2015.

She shifted around, disturbed and restless after her nightmare, with the desire to get up and compose herself. There was no way she was going to be able to fall back asleep. Hell no. Rhia needed to get out of the bed. Maybe go to the bathroom and wash her face. Go to the kitchen and drink some water. Take a seat in the living room and work herself through the dream. Refute the things that Ash had said and done. Jack was alive. BT was alive. The Militia had been on the verge of victory when she had had her accident with the sphere.

She just had to tell herself that it wasn’t true. None of it was. She hadn’t abandoned anyone. There was simply nothing she could do to return yet. Maybe there never would be and Rhiannon would have to put her big girl pants on and just fucking deal with that.

But she had to get up.

Now.

Rhia began to move, trying to think around her racing and rattled thoughts as to how she was going to slip out of bed without the two nonagenarians waking up. That was the last thing she needed at that moment. She just needed some alone time to wrap her head around everything, digest it all, and cool her heels. But her attempt, which began with trying to remove Steve’s arm from its place draped across her abdomen, just above Bucky’s own. She found herself being pulled back against his chest by that very same arm and the blond’s nose burying itself against her neck, exposed by the braid she had pulled her hair into for the night.

But in doing so, Steve had pulled her almost entirely out from Bucky’s grip.

He hummed deep in his throat as his arm tightened around her. “Don’t leave,” he murmured against her neck and she couldn’t help but shiver at the hot gust of his breath against her skin. “Where you goin’?”

Rhiannon scrambled for an answer that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion. She knew if she even dared to mention her nightmare Steve would wake up and try to help. “Gotta pee,” she eventually whispered back, her voice at the quietest it could possibly go, thinking that it was something believable that he wouldn’t argue about.

“Mmm. Need some help?”

“Peeing?” she shot back, twisting her neck to try and look back at the man, but stopped as a puff of breath escaped from his mouth, which pressed itself into the join of her neck and shoulder. A sharp nip of his teeth was his answer to her sarcasm and she had to lock her body up to keep from reacting.

“Smart aleck,” Steve grumbled under his breath. “Go.” The spot where he had bitten her was soothed by the press of soft lips. “Come back soon,” he whispered, before pulling away and helping her to climb up and over him to the side of the bed without disturbing Bucky. How the metal-armed brunet had stayed asleep through all of this – his rate of breathing unchanged and his body still fully relaxed – with his own enhanced senses was a miracle. But it wasn’t one that Rhia was going to question or dwell on for more than a brief second.

She was free.

Padding on bare feet in her pajamas, a baggy t-shirt from home and a pair of loose drawstring shorts, Rhiannon made her way towards the bathroom under the guise of her not-really-a-lie. She used the toilet and after washing her hands she spent a moment looking into the mirror under the dim light. Her eyes were red-rimmed despite not having shed any actual tears and the faintest of shadows forming under them. Her lips pulled thin and downward into a perpetual frown by her negative thoughts, which still continued to race as she went through the motions.

Rhia dampened a towel under a stream of cold water and used it to wipe away the thin film of dried sweat on her skin and cool her irritated eyes. It was a palpable sense of relief that didn’t make much sense in the grand scheme of things, but it made her feel better regardless. It was the thought of cold water that had Rhiannon wandering off to the kitchen after the bathroom to fill a glass and bring it with her into the living room.

And yet, as she sat on the couch and tried to calm herself, taking sips from her water as she went. As she tried to rationalize the horrors and all of the doubts that her mind had created from her journey through the World Foundry and Dynamic Testing Facility. Digesting Ash’s accusations, which at the end had been the fabrications of her subconscious. Things that, perhaps in her darkest moments, she might’ve thought of a time or two.

Seeing Jack and BT die. The vague belief that in her nightmare her Titan had gone nuclear.

And her helmet was right there on the coffee table.

She wanted to talk to Rome. No. She needed to talk to him. To make sure that he was still just outside the Compound. Still there and still alive.

In the blink of an eye she was pulling her Pilot’s helmet onto her head, comforted by the sight of her heads-up display appeared and she began to cycle through commands. The external speakers disabled and a communications ping sent out to her Vanguard-class. Rhia hoped that he would answer promptly.

“Pilot Lastimosa,” Rome greeted and Rhia slumped back into the couch as the profound relief of hearing his voice flooded through her system. “It is early. Why are you not sleeping at this time?”

“Just…” She almost couldn’t get the words out, torn between her relief and the remaining symptoms from her nightmare. Still seeing the horrific final battle and her slow, torturous death in her mind’s eye. Still hearing the faintest murmurs of Ash in her ears. Seeking a much-needed source of familiar comfort. “I – I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Rhiannon, your vitals are above baseline. Something has distressed you.”

Curse her Titan for having free access to the data feed from her helmet and being far too perceptive.

“Had a nightmare. Par for the course, you know? Just… Just a bit rattled. Couldn’t go back to sleep.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Rome asked. “I will always be willing to listen.”

Rhia found herself rubbing at a particular spot on her right arm, just below her elbow. “Not right now. Just wanted to talk to you. To make sure you were all right.” She paused for a moment, the palm of her hand lying flat against the inked flower on her arm, as buried paranoia and worry emerged. “You’re fine, right?” she softly asked, embarrassed that her voice wavered and warbled over the words.

“Affirmative. I am one hundred percent intact and operational,” he reported and she exhaled roughly, but found her worry over the wellbeing of her Titan only replaced by several of the other doubts that were barking and howling at her mind’s door.

She chose to give voice to those doubts. Tossing them out for the consumption of her Titan’s logical processor. To hear what he might have to say to either confirm or assuage her internal fears. “Do you think we’re betraying the Militia? By staying here and joining the Avengers? By choosing to not actively try to find a way to return back home by any means necessary?”

“Negative. I believe that the leadership of the Militia – Commander Briggs, in particular – would think it a prudent choice to have allied ourselves with a group like the Avengers. Would understand that it was the choice that offered up the best chance of survival in an unfamiliar environment, while also making use of our abilities in support of a good cause.”

“But,” Rhiannon argued. “We’re not even trying to get home anymore, Rome. That makes us deserters. We’ve gone AWOL for all intents and purposes.”

“Not of our own volition. And currently a means of returning to our reality is beyond our capabilities. It is far better for us to bide our time and wait for an opportunity to present itself.”

“I just…”

“We have done what is right, Pilot,” Rome interrupted, but not unkindly. “We have done everything we can for the time being. Now all we can do is wait and hope for the best.”

“Hope…” Rhiannon sighed heavily within the helmet, feeling the filters quickly activate to prevent her visor from fogging. “I honestly don’t know how much of that I’ve got right now, Rome.”

“Has the recent development of your romantic relationship with Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes not improved your mood? I have noted significant improvements in your behavior over these past two weeks.”

“No, it has,” she admitted honestly. “It’s wonderful, really. More than I could’ve ever wished for. But that doesn’t stop me from still feeling lost. From missing and grieving for all of the people and things that we may never get to see ever again.” But the thoughts of home brought an idea to mind. It would be nice to see those things again. A comfort, to be sure, though perhaps a bittersweet one in hindsight. “Do you still have all of those photo logs in storage?”

“I do.”

And that was how Rhiannon had found herself cycling through dozens of images that had been taken throughout the years, knees pulled up towards her chest and her helmeted forehead resting on top of her bent legs. They were a double-edged sword. All of those pictures. Providing both the comfort of the familiar and the only slightly dulled pain of missing it all.

The unruly poker nights with the 6-4. Going out with Roy and Hack for a night on the town when their postings coincided. Those precious moments she had shared with her father before his death. Pictures of Jack during the early days of under-the-table Pilot training. BT-7274 and RA-5172 docked next to each other in dozens of different Titan Bays across planets and ships alike. Looking almost like twins if not for Rome’s significantly darker coloring.

Remembering events of her past with every new image.

Rhiannon was startled out of her reminiscence as the couch cushions sunk down on either side of her. Two bodies sitting themselves on either side of her.

She had been gone too long.

Steve and Bucky had come to find her.

“Rhia?” Bucky asked from her right as his metal hand came to rest lightly on her hunched shoulder, while Steve mirrored the action from her left. “Can you hear us, sweetheart?”

“We knew you had a nightmare,” Steve admitted softly.

She should’ve known and waited for feel irritated by their interruption of her alone time, but found herself too exhausted by everything to put up a fight. To resist what she knew was just their well-meant desire to take care of her. To offer their help. So, Rhia sat up and pulled her helmet off of her head, setting it down in her lap as she straightened her legs out, before settling back against the cushions and looking at each of them. Their hair mussed from sleep and concern was obvious in their eyes, even in the dark.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, reaching for her glass of water to give herself something to do. Taking a hefty drink before setting it and her helmet back onto the table.

“Want to talk about it?” Steve asked gently.

“Not particularly,” she said, perhaps a bit more harshly than she meant to, but softened her voice as she continued. “I talked to Rome. I’m… better now.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, his hand on her shoulder shifting as he leant towards her to wrap his whole arm around her and pulled her gently onto his lap. Both arms coming to wrap around her entirely and tucking her head underneath his chin. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Steve shifted closer, wrapping his own arms around the both of them and humming in agreement. “Do you think you could go back to sleep? We’ve still got a while until it’s a reasonable hour.”

Rhia thought about it and decided that it was worth trying. She was tired, probably even more so than when they had all initially gone to bed. Her decision was punctuated with a jaw-splitting yawn that she failed tried to try and muffle with one of her hands.

“Think that’s a yes,” Bucky joked lightly with a faint smile on his face, deciding to press a light kiss to her forehead after he stood up from the couch with her cradled in his arm. “Come on, sweetheart, back to bed.”

“For all of us,” Steve added as he followed after them, meeting Rhiannon’s look over Bucky’s shoulder with a soft and affectionate smile that she couldn’t help but return. How suddenly eager she was to find herself back in the warmth she had discovered being sandwiched between the two.

A soothing balm for her troubled soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, my lovely people. Chapter 27 had been completed. A Titanfall content and Rhiannon perspective heavy chapter for you all to digest now, because while everything seems happy on the outside, all of three of them are far from actually fine on the inside. But I hope you all enjoyed! And for those you lacking in knowledge about the story of Titanfall 2, I can only hope that I described things with enough coherency and accuracy that you were able to understand what was going on. For reference, in case you may desire further information, the subject of Rhia's nightmare is the Titanfall 2 campaign mission "Into the Abyss" and some scripted canon dialogue from the actual mission was used. Also a little bit of screen-time for Jack and BT, because I couldn't bear to leave them out.


	28. Chapter 28

**2037 HOURS | MARCH 10, 2015 | UPSTATE NEW YORK, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA**

He’d known exactly what day it was, but truly didn’t know how he felt about it.

Bucky was conflicted about the fact that it was his birthday.

Ninety-eight years old chronologically. And yet, as he had looked at his reflection in the mirror while shaving, he still found himself still looking barely past thirty. He’d been twenty-seven when he’d fallen from the train. He knew that much, but found that the subject of his age meant next to nothing to him now. It was just another day.

But it had started off as idyllic as it could have and Bucky hoped that every morning could prove to be as perfect as this one had been. An actually decent night of sleep, those handful of hours undisturbed by his memories turned to nightmares, and opening his eyes to find himself wedged between his lovers. An arm across his chest, another draped across his stomach and their legs loosely intertwined beneath the sheets. The warm puffs of Rhiannon’s breath against the skin of his left shoulder. Each exhale glancing over the ugly line of knotted scar tissue that separated his arm from the rest of him. Steve on his right, mirroring Rhia’s posture to sleep on his side, with one cheek pillowed against Bucky’s other shoulder. He should’ve felt enclosed – felt trapped – between them with no space to move, but he didn’t.

He felt safe.

It had been almost a month into their attempt at a polyamorous relationship and, in the general sense of things, very little had changed in their daily schedules and habits. Steve still tended to his duties as Captain America and the leader of the Avengers. Rhiannon had taken to splitting her time between the dropship, spending time with her Titan, and the engineering labs with Stark and Banner. And Bucky had found himself spending more and more time in the company of the other members of the Team. Barton, Wilson and Thor, in particular. Romanoff seemed to prefer to keep her distance, though she was never rude or hostile outwardly, and Bucky was fine with that.

It could be uncomfortable to look at the red-head sometimes. To look and see a near mirror-image of himself in another human being. Their experiences not entirely dissimilar. And to also remember that there were two scars on her body that he had put there himself as the Soldier.

So, yes. Bucky was perfectly alright with the Black Widow keeping her distance.

The only true change brought about by their choice to try this thing was the sudden and very welcome allowance for physical displays of affection. But they had made the choice to take things slowly. Baby steps until they were certain that something like this – a type of relationship that none of them were familiar with – would work out.

They had kissed. Sweet and soft. Innocent pecks on each other’s lips, cheeks and foreheads. Whispered presses against shoulders and necks as they lay together, either on a couch or a bed. Heated exchanges of meshing lips, nipping teeth and sliding tongues in those moments where feelings and desires that had long been repressed suddenly ran at a fevered pitch.

How Bucky felt to be kissing Steve again after all these years. Refreshing all of the memories that had become faded and blurred, even after he had finally remembered them. The details snapping back into startling clarity. To have been presented with the opportunity to finally kiss Rhiannon. A woman that he’d had feelings for since almost the moment he’d really started to get to know her. Brought into being when he’d seen the lengths that she had been willing to go for a stranger. Feelings that had only grown stronger the longer Bucky had spent in her presence.

It was blissful.

And it was with that good mood in tow that Bucky had begun his day. Going for an early morning run on one of the new trails that he had been marking out around the Compound’s property. There had been snow several days before, but it had suddenly taken a turn for warmer weather since then. Now it was actually pleasant and a welcome change to go and run outdoors. He had come back from his run – Rhia, Steve and Wilson in tow – and been approached by Stark after cleaning up and eating breakfast.

“Hey, Barnes, I think it’s probably about time you let me take a look at that arm of yours,” he’d said, pouring more coffee into an incredibly large mug. “If you’re going to be going into the field with the Team, we’re going to need to make sure it’s functioning at a hundred percent.”

Bucky had been hesitant to accept the offer. Only one person had worked on his arm since his defection. Rhiannon. Probably the only person he would have usually trusted to work on it. And even then, she had to do it twice. The first time had been to remove the HYDRA tracking device and the second was just a thorough once over before they had assaulted the base in the mountains. Since then, as no other issues had arisen beyond the usual aches and pains that the arm had given him for as long as he’d had it, it had been left alone.

But Stark had a point, as much as he loathed to admit it, and Rhia had admitted more than once that the man was by far the better engineer. And Steve seemed to trust Stark, considered him as a friend. The pair had seemed supportive of the multi-billionaire’s idea and Bucky found himself accepting the offer. Tagging along behind the shorter, dark-haired man – unexpected joined by Dr. Banner, who had offered his assistance from a biological standpoint – towards one of the engineering labs before taking a seat on a particularly comfortable wheeled stool.

“So, how long have you had this particular arm?” Banner asked as Stark bustled around gathering tools.

“Since the 50s,” Bucky answered honestly, always knowing the arm to look like it did now. Waking up that very first time to the silver appendage, looking on in horror as that fucking weasel – Zola – cooed and purred about his new purpose. The satisfaction he’d taken when trying to strangle the man with that very same arm before being drugged into oblivion. “I can’t really remember much, though. Think they did work on it every time I came out of cryo, but I wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind to be paying attention. Never asked questions. Let them do what they wanted.”

Stark, with a frown on his face, came back over and set his gathered items down on a table. “Probably just another way those fucktards thought to keep you under their thumb. Have you reliant on them for the maintenance of your arm.”

Bucky hummed in agreement because it did make sense, looking on warily as Stark and Banner worked together to wheel a similar sort of scanning machine over in his direction. “Thought you already did that when I first got here?” he asked with a slightly narrowed eyed stare at the piece of technology.

“We did, yeah,” Bruce explained with a shrug and an apologetic expression, as if he knew that Bucky wasn’t overly fond of this whole song and dance, despite its apparent necessity. “But we didn’t really look at it beyond the basics, to respect your wishes for privacy. But now, you’ve been working hard while exercising and training and it’s entirely possible that the internal components of your arm have changed – shifted or degraded – since then.”

“If everything is still in tip-top shape then you’ll be out of here in a minute or two, but if something’s wrong, or the verge of going bad, then we’ll have to discuss options,” Stark added, positioning the scanner nearby and swiveling the screen on an movable limb to line up with Bucky’s left side. “Are you ready to get started?”

He grimaced, but nodded sharply. The quicker they began then the quicker they could be done.

However, Banner added quickly before they started, “And if at any time you start feeling uncomfortable or overwhelmed, just let us know. Really. Just tell us. We’ll stop and take a break. Or reschedule this for another day.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, appreciating the sentiment and the fact that at least Dr. Banner understood how something like this could feel from his perspective. “I’m fine for now, so let’s just do this. Because you’re right, Stark. I can’t go into the field if the arm is fucked up and put the Team in danger when they try to save my sorry ass.” He glanced off to the side, realizing exactly which two he would be putting in danger if that were ever to come to pass. “Especially because it would probably end up being Steve and Rhia,” he murmured, but found that both of the geniuses had overheard.

“And how is that new little adventure going so far?” Stark asked with a broad grin as he began to poke and prod at one of the displays to begin the scan, while Banner only shook his head in exasperation. But at the sight of Bucky’s deadpan expression, which he was maintaining on purpose to see where the genius inventor was trying to go with this line of questioning. However, the man seemed to think that he hadn’t understood the question. “Come on, Barnes. I’m not an idiot. Just because Romanoff and Barton didn’t invite me into their little club, like they did with Wilson and Point-Break, doesn’t mean that I don’t still know about things that are going on right under my nose.”

Banner sighed heavily, turning to Bucky with the apologetic expression that the metal-armed man was beginning to think that he would see a lot of when in the presence of Stark. “He means your relationship with Steve and Rhiannon,” Bruce explained.

But Bucky had already known what he had meant, as he narrowed his eyes and affixed a mild scowl of irritation onto his face at Stark’s nosiness. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business, Stark.” Bucky’s personal life was his own – now that he was allowed to actually have one – and he valued his newfound privacy more than anything. But he really shouldn’t have been that surprised at this turn of events. It should have been common sense that the whole of the Avengers would have found out about his relationship with Steve and Rhia not too long after it had been established. They had tried to keep it quiet. Not really a secret, but they certainly weren’t frolicking around the Compound to sing and scream the news to the world.

Hell no.

“Oh, it’s not,” Tony blithely continued, far from cowed by the blatant expression of annoyance on his face. “But I like gossip and it’d be nice to get my hands on some information that the Widow doesn’t know yet. Not to mention the fact that in the two plus years I’ve known Capsicle, I’ve never seen him this happy.” The cocky grin waned ever so slightly into something a bit more heartfelt and honest as Stark glanced away from the screen to look Bucky dead in the eyes. “So, all I really wanted to say was congratulations and that I hope it all works out.”

“Thanks,” he said with a nod of acceptance, looking away for a moment as he added quietly. “I hope it does too.” But because Bucky had turned his head away, he missed the moment where Stark’s impish grin came back, brighter and wider than before, and the panicked expression that Banner had as he saw it developing.

“Tony…” Bruce warned lowly as Bucky turned his head back around, wary of the tone that Banner had used might mean, from the windows he had been staring out of.

But Stark just spoke without thought, seemingly overjoyed to have something new to talk and more than interesting to talk about. “But to think that I’d live to see the day where not only Steve Rogers and James Barnes are revealed to be bisexual – bet my Dad never knew that fun little fact – but that either of you would have the balls to try a polyamorous relationship with Lastimosa. Super-soldier threesome. Never saw that coming. Damn. Makes me wish I had been included into the bet though.”

“Bet?” Bucky asked lowly, almost a growl. That singular word had caught his attention as he had just sat there and let Stark ramble. He didn’t care about Stark’s opinions about his relationship. He didn’t care about anyone’s opinions about them. No one except for Steve’s and Rhiannon’s opinions mattered.

“Surprised none of you super-soldiers ever managed to hear about any of this,” Stark said. “Didn’t think the four of them could keep something like this as secret as they apparently did. Figured Wilson or Thor would spill the beans without meaning to.”

“Stark. What bet?” he asked again, beginning to connect the dots between all of the times Barton had spoken to him about trying a relationship, as Stark finally seemed to realize how annoyed Bucky was.

“Don't get your panties in a twist, Barnes. I don’t know the specifics. Probably just about if and or when the three of you would manage to pull your heads out of your collective asses and get together,” Stark explained with a shrug of his shoulders. “Probably just bit of well-meant fun for those four. After all, the bad guys are all hiding in their little holes and the spies had to find something to keep themselves occupied with.”

Bucky began to open his mouth, not quite sure what he was about to say, but Dr. Banner spoke first, “Okay, Tony, you’ve had your fun. Leave it alone. Let’s just keep working and do what we’re meant to be doing.” Bucky’s mind ground to a halt as Bruce sought put the subject to bed and curb Stark’s behavior. If the inventor dropped it then Bucky would just do his best to forget everything he had just heard. He didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to start a fight.

“But I want to know if…” Stark protested with an almost childish tone to his voice.

“No,” Bruce interrupted sternly. “Stop pushing. Respect their privacy.”

“Fine,” the billionaire whined dramatically, head tilted back and huffing a purposefully loud and gusty sigh. “Back to science then.”

And Bucky was glad as the next few minutes passed in a calm and peaceful silence. Stark minding his own screen, prodding and swiping on occasion, as Banner did much the same with his own. One or the other would step forward and shift the scanner around. Either of them prompting Bucky to turn this way and that, lifting his arm away from his body at a ninety-degree angle before extending it straight up. Then finally, they were done and the mild, barely audible hum of the machine went quiet.

“Well,” Stark began. “The good news is that most of the internal components look alright for now. Looks like a mix of mid-2000s and more recent tech. Top of the line in both cases. Steel, carbon fiber, titanium, some aluminum and…” The dark-haired man squinted at the screen for a moment. “And if the molecular scans are correct, I think some of the pieces that are inside your body are actually Vibranium. How in the hell did HYDRA get their hands on that?”

Banner brought his own screen around, a furrow forming between his brows at he gestured towards the display that both Bucky and Stark were able to see. “But there’s this bit here that I’m concerned about,” he said, pointing specifically to a series of detailed imaged of his whole torso.

It was odd for Bucky to be seeing the inside of his own body. He leaned forward in fascination – eager to see what modern science could tell him – but nearly found himself gagging, leaning away and looking back to the serenity of the window, when he began to understand what the scans were showing. The plates and rods of metal that had been fastened, bolted and screwed into his own bones. What had HYDRA done to him? He’d never questioned the arm. Loathed it always. Hated it always. Begrudgingly accepted that it was a useful tool and weapon when he was fighting. But to finally see how Zola and his followers had attached the limb to him…

He’d remembered waking blearily and in pain, washed up from the river after his fall from the train. Seeing the shadowed image of a man, who barked in a language he hadn’t been able to understand. Looking to the side as he was jostled and manhandled to the puddle of crimson on the snow next to him. The sight of the shredded and frostbitten remnants of this arm, torn away at the elbow, being cut away with a knife by the man. Being dragged away as the pain and cold pulled him back under.

At the elbow. Bucky had still had the upper half of his arm then, but HYDRA cut it all away while he’d been drug. To the joint in his shoulder to prepare him for the arm. But now… Now Bucky realized that they’d gone even deeper. They’d taken even more of him – from him – than he’d thought they had.

Dr. Banner continued to speak, seemingly unaware of the state of Bucky’s mind. The way he had begun to wrestle with the resurgence of his feelings of disgust and violation. The scientist said, “There looks like there’s some soft tissue inflammation around the anchors on the rib cage and scapula. Odd.” Banner hummed thoughtfully, cupping his chin in one hand and rubbed at his faintly stubbled jaw. “I would’ve thought that you’re enhanced ability to heal would have been able to handle something like that. Does the arm tend to hurt or ache after you’ve used it a lot?” he asked, looking up at Bucky, who was quick to try and make himself look normal and unaffected.

“Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s manageable. In most cases, I’ve just learned to ignore it.”

“Ignore it?” Stark asked. “Why? If you’re…”

Bucky grit his teeth, resisting the urge to grind them, before explaining. “HYDRA didn’t care if I was in pain. Didn’t matter as long as I was capable of carrying out the mission.”

“Fucking bastards,” the inventor growled out, looking just about ready to hit something.

But Banner had a thoughtful and concerned expression on his own face, looking at the display before meeting Bucky’s eyes and he could see as the dots connected and the scientist came to a realization of the actual truth. A truth that Bucky wouldn’t have told anyone. Ever. “It hurts all the time, doesn’t it?”

He weighed the price of admitting it, before ultimately deciding that Banner had clearly already come to his own conclusions. Conclusions that were accurate, so Bucky just nodded and said, “Yes.”

“And what makes the pain worse?” Bruce asked, obviously transitioning into a more doctor-patient sort of mindset as he swiped at his screen and began to tap away to take notes. “Be honest, Bucky. We’ve got to know these things if we’re going to be able to help you to the best of our ability.”

Bucky took the leap, pushing away all of his fears and worries in an effort to open himself up to these two men. Men that Steve trusted. Men that Rhia was beginning to grow fond of and become friends with. They were here to help. Willing to help and he needed to just try and trust them as well. “Long periods of strenuous physical activity,” he listed. “Temperature extremes, both hot and cold. Sudden pressure changes due to weather. Strong currents of electricity.”

The two were nodding along as he spoke, Banner speaking after he had finished. “Makes sense. Still, maybe we ought to look into trying to mitigate some of those factors as much as we can?” he asked with a glance towards Stark, who was already typing and prodding and poking at his display screen at a fevered pitch as his genius-level mind raced with ideas. “Maybe a specialized sleeve for your uniform that Tony could try and work on?”

“Can do that,” the other man said shortly, looking back up from the screen as he paused in his thinking and brainstorming. “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. But if I’m going to be entirely honest,” Stark continued with a more serious expression directed towards Bucky. “I think the easiest solution would be the just make you a new arm, Barnes. Incorporate countermeasures right into the limb itself and get as much of this HYDRA monstrosity off and out of you as we can. I can’t imagine this thing’s got too many good memories attached to it. But that is entirely up to you, of course. No pressure. Just something for you to think about.”

And Stark was right. It was something Bucky ought to be considering. To be rid of the arm eventually, it was something that he had only dreamed of before. Especially in light of finally seeing exactly it was that HYDRA had done to him.

“Yeah,” he said slowly with a nod of his head, but felt that now was maybe a good time for him to leave. Banner and Stark seemed to have said what they needed to and Bucky was ready to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. “I will. Thanks for the offer. We done here?” he asked.

Banner looked to understand. “Think so,” he said glancing over to his friend and colleague. “Tony?”

The genius had been working on the screen again, but looked up with a glint in his eye. “Yup. You can skedaddle. Go do whatever else you had planned for the day.” A broad grin began to break out on Stark’s face as Bucky rise from the stool and make his way towards the door. “Oh! And happy birthday, Barnes!” Stark called out towards his back with a boisterous and teasing sort of glee in his voice. “Hope you three have fun tonight! Make sure you use protection!”

As Bucky walked away at a brisk pace, he did his best to disregard Stark’s parting words. He knew the man had said it more to push his buttons than anything else. But he knew that plans had been made for the evening. Private plans that would coincide with the usual evening habits of Steve, Rhiannon and himself sitting around and spending time together when they could and felt like it. But only after they had all eaten dinner with the rest of the Team, which was how it was most nights. They barely even used the actual table now, preferring to eat their meal – be it take-out or home-cooked – in the living room while watching television.

But Steve and Rhiannon’s preparations for his birthday had not gone unnoticed. Steve had been gone for a couple of days, taking a trip down into the city to tend to some business of his, and returned with a sizeable box of something. Bucky had not pressed for answers. Rhiannon, as well, had been planning something on the sidelines if the whispered conversations she had been having often were anything to go by.

He suspected that they had both been getting him gifts. Things that he didn’t need, or so he assumed, but would appreciate and be grateful for nonetheless. Anything from Steve and Rhia he would cherish.

The rest of the day had passed by with a great deal of normalcy. For the remaining hours of the morning, after Barton had snagged him from one of the halls, he had spent in the man’s company going over intel that the Team and J.A.R.V.I.S. and their allies abroad had been compiling. Then it had been a quick break for lunch, which wasn’t quite so quick as Bucky might’ve hoped. No, it had lasted closer to two hours as he found himself eating far more than he had originally intended to and being drawn into an unexpected, but pleasant, chat with Thor. And then the afternoon had been split between lightly exercising in the gym, some combat drills in the basement and futzing about in the firing range for lack of anything better to do. He showered, changed clothes, read a little bit from a book he’d been working on that week and then went down to eat dinner when it arrived.

Take-out once again, but from a new restaurant. Chinese food, which the spies and Rhiannon seemed to find particular joy in watching the others try to eat properly with the provided chopsticks. Bucky didn’t even bother trying and Wilson seemed to be of the same mind as they dug in with normal silverware. Banner and Stark were passable at best, but the funniest to watch were Steve and Thor, who for some reason could not seem to get it no matter how delicately or slowly they tried.

Then dinner was done. The leftovers, which there was not much of, stored away in the fridge and the Team separated to go their own ways for whatever they all planned to do that evening. The three of them had chosen to gathering in Rhiannon’s room, if only for the fact that it was located at a point between Steve’s and his own.

The metaphorical middle ground.

“You have a good day, Bucky?” Rhia asked as she wandered off to her own kitchen and fridge, padding along in her socks, to get drinks for them all.

“And how did the appointment with Bruce and Tony for your arm go?” Steve added as he entered the apartment last and shut the door behind him.

“It went fine,” he said, dropping down onto the couch and reclining back against the cushions with a mute sigh of relief. “Nothing’s wrong with it. For now. Stark offered to make me a new one. Might take him up on it. Be glad to get rid of this thing. Day was alright. Same as any of the others.”

Rhiannon hummed as she returned from the kitchen with three bottles of an oatmeal stout, which they had all become fond of in the recent weeks, in her hands. “Well, we’ve got cake to eat, movies to watch and presents to open. Where do you want to start, Buck?”

The back of the couch shifted as Steve leant his hip up against it as Bucky tilted his head back to ask, “What’re we watching?” They’d been hard at work going through Steve’s little notebook of things to watch and had since then been browsing the internet for others things that struck their interests.

“Dunno,” Steve answered with a shrug, taking one of the opened bottles from Rhia. “Up to you.”

“Birthday boy gets to choose,” she said as she extended a beer in his direction.

“Don’t care,” he said shortly, taking the bottle from her grasp, taking a quick sip before setting it down on the coffee table and sprawling back onto the couch. He just wanted to sit back and relax for the rest of the day with his two blonds. “One of you can pick.”

But apparently something in the tone of his voice, which he’d thought to be fairly normal, had snagged Steve and Rhiannon’s attention. “What’s wrong?” Steve asked and Rhiannon came to stand beside him and they looked down at him from the back of the couch.

“Nothing’s wrong. Just wanna relax,” he said, hoping that they wouldn’t continue to push, but he ought to have known better.

“That’s bullshit,” Rhia commented bluntly, swinging around to seat herself on the arm of the couch.

“You’re lying,” Steve added. “Something’s definitely bothering you.”

God, sometimes these two were just too similar. They wouldn’t let this go and, in most cases, Bucky would be more than willing to spill his thoughts to both, one or the other. But now… He didn’t want to disappoint either of them with the pettiness of his own feelings right then. Why hadn’t he just had the common sense to fake a bit of enthusiasm about it being his birthday?

“I just…” he began, not really knowing how to put his thoughts into words and avoid hurting either of their feelings. He knew that they had both put effort towards this day. Getting a cake, getting gifts and he didn’t want to ignore or disregard the care they’d shown. “I know it’s my birthday. Ninety-eight. Hurray,” Bucky brought his hands up and gave them a brief – but patently false – wave of celebration before shoving them into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “But I just… don’t really care. It’s like I’m still feeling that disconnect. Like this day – the day of my birth – just doesn’t mean anything anymore. I remember loving it all. Before. Celebrating wherever I was. At home with my parents and sisters. In that shitty apartment we ended up renting, Steve. And that run-down farmhouse in southern France in ’44. I remember it all, those good times, but I just don’t feel it now.”

There was a moment of silence and Bucky, who hadn’t looked at either of them for the entire time that he spoke, glanced over at Rhia and up at Steve. The sadness in their eyes – not pity, but sympathy and emotional pain on his behalf – and their lips pulled into similar grimaces. Exactly what Bucky had been hoping to avoid doing to them. They had already done so much for him. They didn’t need to do more. But Rhia’s expression morphed into one of determination as she glanced between his eyes to meet Steve’s own gaze.

“Well,” she began with a fierce grin beginning to replace her frown and her eyes going steely with an odd sort of determination. “We’ll just have to fix that then. Won’t we, Steve?”

“What?” Bucky asked in confusion, sitting up as the two rose from the couch, but was ignored.

“Cake and presents it is,” Rhiannon said, setting down her beer and clapping her hands together before rubbing her palms together in anticipation. She looked to the tall blond at her side and gestured towards the kitchen, where a small cake – chocolate from the looks of it – sat on the counter. “Steve, you wanna divvy that up for us while I go and get everything from the other room?”

“Yeah, sure. No problem,” Steve said as Rhiannon quickly vanished off into the bedroom, which must’ve been the place where they’d chosen to keep the presents.

Steve returned quickly, plates in hand and the cake divided into thirds on small plates, and offered Bucky the largest slice. “Here ya go, Buck,” he said before looking off towards the bedroom, which Rhia had yet to emerge from. “Rhia, do you need any help?”

But no sooner had Steve spoken, she came out into the living room. A large dark gray case, made of what looked like heavy-duty plastic and metal, carried in her right hand by the handle with a smaller case of a similar style in her left hand.

“Nah, I got it,” she said, setting the cases down on the coffee table while taking care to avoid knocking over their beers. “Just going to have to take two trips.” And she turned to go back for the rest, which turned out to be a cardboard box with a silvery-blue bow taped to the top and what looked like a knife.

She set the box off to the side, closer to Steve’s feet on the left side of the couch, but keeping the knife – as Bucky got a closer look at it and confirmed its identity – in her hands. “And now,” she said, walking around the far side of the table to take a seat on the other side of the couch. “Since Steve and I agreed that you should open my gifts first, here you go.” She proffered the knife and its holster in his direction.

Bucky set down his piece of cake, which he had been devouring with a single-minded determination to avoid thinking too much, to take the blade from her hand. He recognized the design immediately now that it was this close. It was a Data Knife, identical to Rhiannon’s own, and he wondered where she had gotten it from. Had she built it?

“How?” he asked, sliding the knife out from the sheath, examining the sleek matte blade. Depressing the trigger to eject the hacking circuitry and watching in awe as the holographic display at the butt lit up.

“Found a spare in one of the emergency compartments in the dropship,” she explained with a fond smile after having taken a bite of her own piece of cake and washing it down with a swig of her beer. “Thought you might like to have one of your own.”

“Do I get one?” Steve asked playfully with a smile from the far side, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to look around Bucky at Rhia. An expression of mock hurt on his face that Bucky knew all too well. “I’m feeling very left out now.”

Bucky nudged the blond with his shoulder, enough to make him lose his balance and have to steady himself against the arm of the couch. “Shut up, punk. Don’t be a brat.”

“Hey! I’m not!”

“Yes, you are,” Bucky said, trying in vain to stop the smile he could feel emerging onto his face. “Same as you’ve always been, Stevie. Since day one.”

“And that I’m willing to believe,” Rhia teased with a broad grin, leaning back comfortably with the plate of cake balanced on one of her hands cradled close to her chest. “Maybe if you’re good, Rogers, I’ll get you one for your birthday. Now keep going, Bucky.”

He set the knife to the side, resting it between his leg and Rhiannon’s, before reaching for the smaller of the pair of gun cases. A pistol of some sort, he assumed, based on the size. Unless the cases themselves were a lie. A ruse to confuse Bucky into assuming the gifts were something that they weren’t. But if it was a gun – which he would have been lying to say that he wasn’t hoping it was – what could it be? He liked firearms, even after the countless decades of using them against his will. The engineering side of their design and the way they functioned was fascinating to study and learn about. The therapeutic act of shooting at a range or the adrenaline-fueled rush and release of shooting competitively – as he had come to realize – was enjoyable.

Would it be one from Earth that she had used her own funds to purchase? Or would he be lucky enough to be gifted a gun from her own armory?

The lid swung up and he saw a familiar sight.

A gleaming black revolver, a crisp and bold stamp of B3 in white at the end of the barrel, nestled into a thick layer of cushioning foam.

“Rhia…” Bucky whispered quietly reaching in to pull the revolver out and cradling it in his mismatched hands. It was Rhiannon’s favored sidearm and go-to holdout gun. A B3 Wingman Elite. A heavy gun that he knew from personal experience kicked like a horse if one wasn’t prepared for the recoil, but perfectly manageable for people of their nature. The frame made entirely of parkerized metal and the grip fitting his hands more than comfortably.

“Bare bones for now. I figured you’d want to kit it up with what you like for sights and such,” the woman on his right began to explain as he brought the gun up with both hands to aim down the standard iron sights, even testing the reach of his thumb for the hammer. It was double-action, but like any other could fire single-action as well. “Picatinny on top and bottom for whatever you might want to slap on there. Match trigger set to one and a half and already upgraded from a six-round cylinder to eight like mine. Saw you down there at the range having far too much fun with the standard B3s and thought you might like one of your own.”

“This is too much,” he protested. “I don’t need…”

“Don’t care that you don’t need it. I’m giving it to you because you liked them and I wanted to give them to you,” she said, cutting him off as she set her empty plate and drained beer back onto the table. “And if you think this is too much, I’d hate to see what you’re going to think about the last one.”

“Revolver’s got nothing on that beast,” Steve commented blithely with a mouthful of cake, looking on with undisguised happiness as Bucky worked to open his gifts from Rhiannon.

Dots connected inside his brain. A moment of realization that felt like a strike of lightning. He looked to the large gun case for a moment, absentmindedly setting the Wingman Elite back into its home and allowing Rhia to slide it off of his lap. It couldn’t be.

“Rhia?” he asked, looking over at the smugly grinning blond on his right, chancing a glance at Steve to see a similar look on his own face. “You didn’t…”

She reached into the pocket of her sweatshirt and suddenly tossed something shining and metallic into the air. Bucky snatched it in the blink of an eye on instinct and found a truly enormous cartridge in his grasp. A massive thing of gleaming brass and copper over a solid projectile of lead.

“Oh, but I did,” Rhia purred with far too much satisfaction in her voice. “Fourteen-and-a-half-by-a-hundred-and-fourteen-millimeter anti-material. Happy birthday, Bucky Barnes, you’ve got yourself a Kraber now.”

He found himself kissing her. Unable to resist the urge as it flooded throughout his body. The large rifle cartridge dropped between the cushions as he twisted and lunged forward. Slanting his lips over hers as his right hand grasped at the back of her neck to draw her forward and tilt her head up, while his metal arm wrapped around her waist to pull her even closer. Mouths opening as they moved together with rising passion and just the barest slide of their tongues together. The taste of chocolate and dark beer mingling with Rhiannon’s natural flavor. Her hands rising to twine through his hair, wrapping around his neck and grabbing at his shoulders. Those moments spent tangled with each other before Rhia took it upon herself to pull away, despite his protests. Bucky following after her fleeing lips to dip in for more.

He couldn’t believe it. She’d given him a Kraber. The one gun amongst all of the others that he had coveted more than anything, but had contented himself to only borrow the weapon from her collection.

“Bucky,” she whined through laughter as she attempted to pull away for a third time, but found herself muffled as he kissed her again, torn between his desire to pull her into his lap or push her to lay back against the couch.

“Come on, Buck. Let her breath, at least,” he heard Steve admonish from behind him, followed by the jab of a fist into the meat of his side. Bucky flinched from the blow, pulling back reluctantly to shoot the second blond a fierce glare for being interrupted.

“Jealous, Steve?” Rhia asked between her gasps for breath, placing a hand against her chest as if to calm her racing heart. Bucky turned back and found himself feeling proud of the way her pupils had dilated – gray-green swallowed by black – the slackness of mouth and the swollen, wetness of her dark pink lips. He’d done that and how he craved to do it again.

“Terribly.” And it only took one look at Steve to see the tense way he held himself, cake gone and the beer bottle in his grasp held far too tightly. The strain in his shoulders, the tick of a muscle in his jaw, pupils enlarged and his teeth coming out to latch onto his bottom lip. “But there are still presents that need to be opened,” Steve said. “Plenty of time for that later.”

Bucky righted himself on the couch, Rhia doing the same as she admitted, “Steve’s right. Finish opening your gifts, Bucky. I didn’t polish and clean that rifle within an inch of its life for you not to at least look at it and appreciate my work.”

He acquiesced, sliding forward on the couch to open the large case and take a peek at the Kraber, which had been disassembled into two parts for easier storage. And it truly was cleaned wonderfully. The same sort of parkerized black finish to the metal as the Wingman, with four seven-round magazines lying in the layer of foam alongside a variable-zoom scope, the rectangular muzzle break and a bipod mount.

“Thank you,” he said, running a thumb along the barrel, before picking the muzzle break up in his hands to test its weight. A solid chunk of metal. “So much. This is great, Rhia. I love it. More than you know. All of them.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said warmly. “I thought you’d like them.” Bucky put the muzzle break back, running one last loving look of the disassembled anti-materiel rifle and pledging that he would be down at the range tomorrow to sight it in. Maybe he’d even see if he could set some targets up outside to test its range and accuracy at several hundred yards. Possibly get his hands on one of those heftier plates of AR500 to avoid trashing whatever he was aiming at with a single shot.

And then he was on to the box that contained the gifts from Steve and there was a certain tension to the other blond’s shoulders as he reaching into the box. Bucky found contained three smaller boxes, wrapped up with newspapers – just like how Steve used to wrap his gifts back before the war – and a rather thick manila envelope at the very bottom.

He chose one of the boxes at random and tore through the paper.

A deck of cards still in their box.

But this wasn’t just any deck of cards and Bucky stared wide-eyed at the box in his hands.

“Seem familiar, Buck?” Steve asked quietly and Bucky felt Rhiannon leaning in closer on his right, one of her hands on his shoulder as she bent to look closer. He had no words.

These were his cards.

_His._

From during the war.

He scrambled to open the box and pulled out the deck. A set that he’d purchased in Paris on a whim after Dugan and Jones had complained about being bored. Fanning the cards out in his grasp, flipping through them all, stopping to read the dirty jokes scribbled onto some and the hasty doodles that Steve had sketches out on others. Some bent from rough handling during their card nights and some stained with a wide variety of booze, speckles of blood or splatters of faded mud.

“Where did you get these, Steve?” he asked, voice rough with emotion after being overwhelmed with old memories and feelings. Nights spent in the wilderness of the European countryside, crammed in a tent with too many men as they gambled with whatever they had on hand at the moment. “How did you get these?” he asked, allowing Rhia to pull the cards from his grip to look them over for herself. Reading the jokes and chuckling quietly and admiring the tiny works of art.

“Your things were sent home after you were declared KIA,” Steve explained solemnly. “Managed to find them. But keep going, Buck,” the blond urged with a nod of his head towards the box. “There’s more.”

With a burgeoning sense of need, Bucky plunged his hand back into the box to pull out another gift bundled in black and white. A larger present this time and he opened it to discover a worn book bound in faded black leather. A bible. A Catholic Bible. The bible that he’d brought overseas with him after he had been deployed. The one book that contained more than just the words of God, if it remained in the very same state that he’d left it in. He flipped it open and sure enough there they were.

Picture after picture wedged and hidden between the pages. A photograph of his parents. Another of his three little sisters. Photos of Steve. Those precious images kept for those dark moments in the trenches before the formation of the Commandos. Back when he’d had nothing but his memories and that sole image of his love to keep him going and keep his memories fresh. Cutouts from some newspapers of the Commandos gathered together with smiles of their faces. Even a couple of racier images of models and actresses, those popular during the height of the forties, because he was allowed to look.

Bucky couldn’t help but bring the book up to his nose and inhale, bringing in the familiar smell of old paper and leather.

A comforting smell.

He opened the third box, shredding the newspaper and dumping the contents out onto the silver palm of his left hand. Metal clanged against metal and a lensatic compass of brass and steel tumbled out.

Another piece of his past.

Right there in the palm of his hand.

“Do you remember the day we bought these? That night out in London?” Steve asked quietly and Bucky looked up to see that Steve was twirling his own compass, one of a similar make and model, between his fingers. “The only real date night we ever managed while on leave.”

“I remember,” he whispered, swept back to that very afternoon and evening that they had managed to sneak out of the SRS barracks and wander through the city. “It rained before we even finished dinner.”

Steve hummed in agreement. “It did.”

Bucky flicked it open and saw the faded photo cut and fitted into the inside of the lid. Stevie’s face, bright and smiling. A photo taken before he’d been changed with the serum. Turned into the muscle-bound handsome fool he was now. An old picture of that tiny, blond punk he’d met, befriended and loved for all those years before. A photo that had once been secreted away in his bible before earning a place inside the compass when Bucky had decided that he wanted to carry a bit of Steve with him wherever he went. Close to his heart even when the man was standing not even an arm’s length away.

“But I think we’ll be needing new photos for these,” Steve continued with a bright smile blooming on his face, shaking his own compass for emphasis. “Wouldn’t mind having a nice picture of you and Rhia right in here now. Maybe one of Rhia and myself to put in yours?”

“That sounds like a great idea, Steve,” Rhia chimed from her place perched at Bucky’s shoulder, setting the box of cards back down onto the table with a reverent amount of care.

He was overwhelmed with the weight of these gifts. His past. His history. A series of memories that while he knew they were his, remembered all of the sights and smells, but still felt as if they weren’t truly his. But seeing these things… The connection had been reforged. Seeing the cards. Smelling the bible. Feeling the smooth cylinder of metal underneath the pads of his right hand’s fingers, after he closed the lid with a mute click.

“Steve…” he choked out, torn between wanting to kiss the man within an inch of his life or just smother him in a hug. To just cling to Steve, bury his face in the blond’s shoulder and possibly even weep because of the unbearable surge of emotions he felt just then.

Too much.

It was just too much.

“One more gift, Buck. Just one more,” Steve urged softly and Bucky sniffed, comforted by the firm squeeze of Rhia’s hand on his shoulder. Her hand sliding around until her whole arm around wrapped around him. A support he hadn’t known he had needed.

“You can do it, love,” she murmured encouragingly. The bible and compass joining the cards on the table, stacked alongside the anti-materiel round that had since been fished from between the cushions.

The manila folder felt like a lead weight in his hands.

Inside were letters. Dozens and dozens of letters. Laminated to preserve the paper and words scrawled onto them from the wear and tear of time. Some he recognized were written in his own handwriting, while others were penned by others. Steve. His father. His mother. His sisters.

His postage during the war.

Saved and preserved.

“They kept them all this time. Locked away in a safe,” Steve whispered as Bucky began to flip through the letters, barely reading a word through the blurring of his vision. He was crying. Silent tears, if not for the shaking breaths he sucked in through his mouth. “Lucky that a museum didn’t get them.”

“Steve, where did you get these? Where did you get any of this?”

“Your sisters.”

“What?”

“They’re still alive, Bucky, and they know that you are too.”

The world seemed to stop in its tracks.

His sisters.

Eleanor. Catherine. Rebecca.

They were alive.

“They’re alive,” he whispered, staring off into the middle distance, shocked beyond belief. Overjoyed, but also terrified.

“They are. And they can’t wait to see you again,” Steve said. “Almost didn’t make it out of Becca’s with how those three were going on laughing and crying and jumping around in the way that a trio of elderly ladies definitely probably shouldn’t have been.”

“They – They want to see me. Do they know?” Bucky asked, fear and panic raising its head with the idea that his sisters. His sweet, little sisters knew what a monster he had become. “No. No, I can’t…”

Steve was quick to lean forward and set his hands on Bucky’s own shoulders, even as Rhiannon pulled him into a firmer embrace. “Easy, Bucky,” he soothed. “I didn’t tell them anything more than the basics and they understand. They’ll wait until you’re ready. As long as it takes.”

“Shh, honey,” Rhia cooed softly in his ear. “Just breathe. You’re fine. This is a good thing. You still have family. Your sisters are alive and they love you. They love you so much and are just glad to have you back in any way that they can. Even just knowing that you’re alive.”

Bucky found himself put in the middle of a hug from both sides, the letters removed and set onto the table to join the rest of the gifts, as the two blonds wrapped him in their arms as he cried silently. They hummed and whispered comfortingly, assuring him that all was well and he was allowed to express his emotions without fear of judgement. To let it all out, just as he needed to.

How he loved them.

The efforts they’d taken to make him happy. To make his birthday as special as they had. The weapons. The history. They were all wonderful. Steve and Rhiannon were wonderful.

His tears had dried and Bucky found himself feeling restless. He needed to show them how much he appreciated all of this. Their gifts. Their presence. The fact that they’d chosen to be with him like this.

He turned to Steve, who had leant his head up against Bucky’s own, and laid a soft kiss against the blond’s cheek. One kiss turned to a second, to a third, until finally Steve turned his head enough for Bucky to catch his lips in an ardent lock of lips. Sighing in pleasure as Steve opened his mouth so easily beneath the pressure and a nudge of his tongue. Twitching as one of Rhiannon’s hands pulled away his hair and began to press her own lips up against his straining neck. Her lips parting – as Bucky struggled to balance his attentions between the amorous duel Steve was waging and the equally pleasurable woman pressing herself against him from behind – as the firmness of her teeth nipping at his skin only to be soothed by a swipe of her tongue.

Bucky pulled back for a breath as an idea came to mind. “Middle,” he murmured against Steve’s lips. “Rhia in the middle. Want you both.” Pulling back just enough to try and snag the blonde at his back and rearrange her to sit in the small space between Steve and himself. She settled into the spot with an eager gasp, snugly wedged between their arms and bodies, as Bucky leant down to kiss her this time. Shifting her further back into Steve’s lap as he pressed forward to pin them both between the back and arm of the couch.

Arms shifting and hands grabbing. Bucky’s metal hand fisted into the shoulder of Steve’s shirt while his right had run itself underneath Rhia’s sweatshirt and was running firmly up and down her side, stopping just a hair beneath her bra with a swipe of his thumb. Kissing her with abandon, the slick slide of their tongues before he pulled away to continue with Steve. Steve’s own hands wandering over his back, trying to slide underneath and rub against skin, and another grabbing and grasping desperately at one of Rhiannon’s jean-clad thighs. Bucky catching sight of Steve’s fingers dipping brazenly between her thighs, not quite close enough, but tantalizing close to that special place to get Rhia arching her back. Tilting her head to side to catch Steve’s mouth with her own.

A sight that Bucky would never grow tired of.

Grunting, moaning and sighs of pleasure as they struck up a rhythm of pushing, pulling and grinding. The tenseness and pressure building in Bucky’s groin. The uncomfortable tent of his own jeans as they adjusted themselves to recline back as much as they could in comfort, while pressing closer. Steve with his back to the couch, Rhia nestled between his legs with her back pressed against his chest and Bucky nestled between her own legs. There was a limit to how far they would – could – go, but they hadn’t reached it quite yet.

Just a little more before they stopped, he thought through the growing haze of pleasure and need.

Just enough to show them how much he loved them. How happy they made him.

“Buck,” Steve groaned after one particular grind, Rhiannon’s body being driven back against his own even as she gasped when Steve nipped at her neck and Bucky chose to forsake his own rule and sneak a hand up and under the cup of her bra. His rough palm running over one of her breasts to lightly tweak and pull at one of her nipples, even as he wished he could get her clothes off and go after them with his mouth. The lick and suckle and bite as he truly wanted to.

To get both of their clothes off and just be done with it. To have them.

This was too much.

“We should stop,” he murmured against Rhia’s neck; kissing, biting, sucking and licking, before craning upwards to meet Steve’s searching mouth.

“We should,” Rhia agreed, even as she ran one of her hands under his sweatshirt and the shirt beneath it to rack her nails lightly across his abdomen. Tracing the waistband of his pants with her thumb, the scrape of her fingernail having his hair stand on end with anticipation. Her other arm clinging to the one that Steve still had on her leg, torn between trying to restrain the other blond from touching her or goading him into putting his fingers to work where she wanted them.

“We really should,” Steve added as their kiss broke apart, his head falling back against the arm of the couch and panting for breath.

They paused. No more kissing and their bodies going still as they shut their eyes and made an attempt to get themselves back under some semblance of control. Enough control to continue on with their night. Enough control that they could separate, watch a movie and not be overwhelmed with the urge to just dash into the bedroom and have their way with each other.

A purpose made all the more difficult for Bucky with the two gorgeous blonds beneath him. Their skin shiny with a light sheen of sweat, mouths red and swollen and their necks marked up by his mouth and each other’s.

God, how he couldn’t wait for the day when they were ready for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is Chapter 28, my dear readers. I apologize for the unforeseen lateness and hope that the fact that this chapter turned into a bit of a monster will make up for that fact. Occupational, followed by personal, issues arose that had this chapter not being written in as timely a manner as I would have liked it to have been. That being said, I will hopefully be able to get back onto my usual posting schedule and continue with my two chapters a week goal. Next chapter likely to come on Saturday / Sunday, provided that nothing else decides to happen and cause a delay. Hope you all enjoyed this Bucky Birthday Special and found it... stimulating. Hehehehe! Got a bit saucy, didn't it? We'll get there, my sweets. We'll get there eventually. I promise.  
> Edit as of 7/20/20: First, I was remiss in not announcing that Steve's presents were developed, fleshed out and given the seal of approval by a dear friend and confidant, AlarictheCat, who had been an immense help and reliable sounding board for my ideas. And secondly, I regret to say that updates, for the time being, are being slowed to once a week instead of twice a week. I've found that I just can't maintain that pace any longer. So, as of right now, chapter updates will be coming on Wednesdays for the foreseeable future.


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